Run
by Countryole
Summary: "Spies spend their entire lifetime running. Annie Walker is no exception." A Season 5 character study of Annie Walker and Ryan McQuaid. Annie/Ryan, eventually.
1. The Starting Line

**_The Starting Line_**

Spies spend their entire lifetime running.

Annie Walker is no exception.

She runs from her past and her future, her fears and her wants - _herself_. She is a living, breathing manifestation of all her flaws, and she carries them with her like anchors on her soul - penance for what she tells herself are sins. Her existence is an impossibility in itself, the fact that she is still walking, still breathing, still _alive_, is a constant reminder of how many times she has escaped the inescapable. Inevitability follows in her wake, a constant shadow of all the ghosts that haunt her. It becomes a game to see how long she can stay ahead of it, how long she can survive against the odds that have constantly been stacked against her.

The cost of her sanity becomes a small price to pay for the falsehood of an invincible soul.

And for a while she can pretend. She can pretend that her sacrifices are enough to save her loved ones from suffering. She can pretend that fate and chance are things that are made to scare cowards into coming to terms with their nightmares and monsters. She can pretend that the lies are just as good as the truth. She can pretend that she can keep running.

Until she realizes she can't.

* * *

Running has always been an escape, and she's good at it. Despite the progression of the years, it's the one thing that remains the same, an involuntary and integral element of who she is. It's existence in motion, something that never _actually_ exists for someone like her, except in these rare moments. The solitude it gives her becomes a form of salvation, as temporary as it may be.

She never makes it to the airship after leaving Hong Kong, and she evades the CIA spotters that follow her to Turkey. It's the very thing she's spent all these months fighting to achieve: justice, exoneration. The truth is supposed to set you free, but even that vindication seems nothing more than numbing, a hallow victory. Henry Wilcox may be dead, but a part of her is dead too it seems. She expects the decision not to go back to torment her, like all the other decisions before it. She expects to feel guilty, to feel _gutted_, knowing that there are people who care, a life that is hers, waiting for her to return.

She doesn't feel anything.

The pounding of Annie's feet match the pounding of her pulse. The steady rhythm of her breathing crescendos as she flies down the beach on the island of Fatu Hiva, the place she's called home the past few weeks. The sunrise chases her and a hundred yards away the ocean crashes against the shore, the air heavy and heady with salt - the sea and sweat. Her hair is mostly blonde again, the remnants of Jessica Matthews hiding in the lowlights, and the loose strands of her pony tail cling to her neck. Her lungs sting, her legs are numb, and she sprints faster and faster until she's almost certain her body is spiraling further out of control than her mind.

And that's when it happens.

First it feels like floating.

Then it feels like a knife being shoved into the back of her neck.

She stumbles, her legs ceasing to function, and the ground races towards her. The palms of her hands and her knees dig into the sand, flattened by the tide, and catch her fall. Electric, jolting pain seizes her arms on impact, spreading to her chest. The pain tightens like a vice, paralyzing, and it morphs into excruciating agony. Her vision swims, blackens, ceases.

She gasps for air, but there is none.

She wants to scream, but she's suffocating.

* * *

Annie has always been dangerously close to the edge of panic, but time and time again she always managed to catch herself before it was too late.

This time she's not sure she can.

She goes to Eyal because she knows she can't go to anyone else, she knows deep in the knotted, nauseated pit of her stomach that something is terribly, horribly _wrong_. The entire time on the flight to Tel Aviv she replays that morning on the beach over and over again in her head, the sensation of her heart being strangled, her lungs seizing. It's finally enough to send her to the bathroom where she dry heaves, choking back tears, sickened more by the realization that _this_ is what panic feels like.

Annie trusts Eyal, and because she trusts him she convinces herself to trust Avram. She has no other options, and after some persuasion the Haifa doctor agrees to keep his examination off book, his justification being because he owe's Eyal. It seems everyone owes the Mossad agent, and it never ceases to amaze her the manor of favors her friend has hidden up his sleeve. Annie knows she'll owe him for an eternity and then some - he's saved her life more times than she can count.

She almost laughs when the final results reveal her _broken heart_. It doesn't surprise her, after everything. Her heart has always doomed her from the start, it was only a matter of time.

The scar tissue from Lena's gun shot wound and the resulting surgery has left residual inflammation: myocarditis. Manageable, but not without it's complications. It's spread to her mitral valve, affecting the cardiac muscle in the walls of her heart, resulting in the arrhythmia that caused her tachycardia, and sent her into atrial fibrillation on the beach in Fatu Hiva.

Eyal sits quietly in the background as the diagnosis unfolds. He watches the devastation on her face as their eyes meet, watches it change into anger. Annie feels cold, dizzy, and numb. They both know what this means for her, what she'll lose because of it.

Eyal tries to compel her, tries to give her a way out.

"This is life or death, Neshema."

She could have died.

Part of her wishes she had.

* * *

Her and Eyal talk for a long time, long into the night, and time seems to stop at least for a little while. Breathing doesn't seem so hard. He manages to make her laugh - a sound she's almost forgotten.

Even so, her smile is still forced, her thoughts still racing, her eyes not quite bright enough. There's a darkness that wasn't there before.

Annie is determined to convince herself that this is something she'll be able to conquer, Eyal argues that it's a chance to leave the unconquerable world her life has been tethered to for so long. It seems impossible though, and she tells him so, because both she and Eyal know that spies are like moths drawn to the fire. How long would it take before the sirens call tried to pull her back again? It makes her furious, the unfairness of it all, that after everything fate would be so cruel make her own body the very thing that betrayed her.

She tries to fall asleep in the early morning hours afterward, long after the rest of the household has gone to bed. She imagines what life would be like if she took Eyal's advice. The idea of freedom is almost tempting, the idea of living a life for herself, and not for what she _is_. What if this is her blessing, what if she took this as an out, as an escape?

What if she ran one last time?

* * *

_**A/N:** I haven't wrote anything in forever... So this is going to be an on going character study of Annie for S5. We've seen so much emotion from her this season, and I really love that. This will probably end up being Annie/Ryan because, yes, I love him. I hope you guys forgive me. xoxo_

_Edit: also, on Annie's heart condition, I made myself crazy researching it, and for the sake of all our sanity I am taking some liberty with the myocarditis diagnosis._


	2. The Split

**_The Split_**

She goes _home_.

Except it doesn't feel like home, and there is no homecoming, just a lonely ride on the amtrak with her shadow and her troubled thoughts for company. Despite Eyal's warnings, despite her better judgement, here she is. The voice in her head laughs at her, laughs at her for trying to defy the odds yet again, laughs at her for thinking this could be easy. Her secret is another weight she'll have to carry, and she can already feel it weighing her down.

The National Mall is beautiful this time of morning, quiet and breezy. It's early and the crowds aren't there yet, just the occasional passerby. The reflecting pool is still, a perfect reflection of the world around it. A perfect reflection of _her_. She stands at the edge of the water and studies it. She stares.

She's not sure she recognizes the woman staring back.

* * *

"Auggie."

It feels strange, saying his name after everything, after not saying it at all for so long. It feels different, tastes different as it rolls off her tongue. Heavy, bitter sweet - a breathless murmur that screams to say a million other things. He stops and turns to face her like he's done a thousand times before, and she looks at him - really looks at him - for the first time since she left him on the street in Hong Kong all those months ago. She savors the memories of the time before everything changed, before they became so broken, but they feel like a distant dream. He looks older than she remembers. He looks exhausted. Fractured.

This is what's left of the fire she started.

This is what she did to him.

And somehow he still forgives her.

So she pushes him away, because she loves him too much. She tells him she needs space, because she is too afraid.

With every word, another piece of her heart breaks.

With every lie, another piece of the Annie Walker she knew fades out of existence.

* * *

The polygraph room feels familiar.

Annie can recall, most instances without fondness, the many times she's spent in a straight back plastic chair like this one. The polygraph whirs, the analyst in the seat across form her glowers and scowls, the two-way glass mirror looms behind him. He asks his questions, she gives him his answers. She tells him everything the CIA will want to hear.

Auggie and Calder aren't buying it.

But before they can try to figure it out, an answered prayer comes in the form of a phone call and the sound of Calder's wingtips walking across the polygraph room's tile floor. She uses the brief few seconds to plea her case to Auggie, because he's the only one she trusts. She's not stupid, and neither is he. He promises to try, her promises to fight for her like he always has, but the look on his face belies the reality they both know is there.

There are no real accolades for breaking the rules when you play the game. Even if you win. Langley would like nothing more than to clip her wings and watch her fall, even after all she's done, even after all she's given up.

Sacrifice is part of the job description.

* * *

A threat on American soil, terrorists and old enemies - it's all Langley needs. In the monopoly game of espionage, it's like a get-out-of-jail-for-free. So they fast track her, and turn their heads, and tell her "this isn't over yet, Walker", because right now they need her more than she needs them.

Annie revels in it, the power it gives her.

She also knows it could all be gone in a blink.

They're sending her to Chicago for a reason though, because they believe she's the best there is.

She wants to believe it too, and part of her does, but the other part of her can feel the hole being burned into the bottom of the bag she's carrying, the one holding the auto-injectors containing her nitrate medication.

When steps off of the lear jet and onto the sunny, too bright tarmac of O'hare International, she has to force a smile when she shakes Charlie's hand.

* * *

It happens so quickly she doesn't even realize it before it's too late.

_What did you expect?_

This is what Annie asks herself, collapsed in some God forsaken back alley, gasping for air and feeling like a thousand pounds of crushing force is sitting on her lungs. The world is spinning. She fumbles with the auto injector, her vision blurry from threatening tears and her body rigid, uncooperative. The ultimate paralysis is fear. The knife digs deeper into her chest.

She manages to drive the needle into her thigh, and after several more seconds of agonizing pain, the fog finally lifts as the nitrates take their affect. Her chest relaxes, and her heart stops feeling like it's seizing.

Borz Altan, the man she was following, the man involved with a possible _terrorist_ attack, is nowhere to be seen.

_You let him get away._

She closes her eyes, teeth clenched.

Much like she told Eyal in Tel Aviv, being a spy is more than just what she does, it's who she chooses to be. This job is what makes up every fiber of her being, it's what gives her purpose, and yet the cruel reality is that it's also the reason she's suffering. For the first time she asks herself a question she hasn't been able to face until now, unwilling to admit what acknowledging it would mean - surrender to the same inevitability she's spent her entire life outrunning.

_How broken are you, Annie? How long until you break permanently?_

* * *

When she returns to the Chicago facility, she's pulled herself back together. The facade of infallible spy is securely in place. The analysts and other agents stay out of her way as she storms back through the bullpen - she's fire and brimstone and hell-hath-no-fury like a woman in Louboutins. It's intimidation at it's finest.

She dives back into the work, mostly because she's driven by determination, but also because of the gnawing guilt in the pit of her stomach.

Charlie offers her the so called file from McQuaid Securities, Borz former employer, and she skims through the scant manilla folder with mounting irritation. Private Military Companies, despite their heavy involvement in government sanctioned operations, were notorious for their lack of transparency. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that Ryan McQuaid and his company wear the cliche so well, but today Annie has lost her patience with interagency diplomacy.

In that moment she makes a decision that will change everything.

"I need to speak to him."

"Get his liaison on the phone-"

"No. I want to speak to McQuaid himself."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Thanks for the reviews you guys, I'm really glad you're liking it so far. I promise we'll have plenty of Ryan from here on out, I just had to set the pace. We're getting inside Annie's head, isn't it fun? I like this loose, sort of disjointed style of writing, it can be fun and artistic and deep in it's simplicity. Enjoy! ;) xoxo_


	3. Swallowed By The Slipstream

**_Swallowed By The Slipstream_**

McQuaid Securities has sky rocketed in growth during the last five years, their private military contracts doubling, tripling and quadrupling, rivaling the remnants of Blackwater and names like G4S. For their efforts they're listed as one of the most promising new companies amongst Forbes and Fortune 500, and the previous whispers of uncertainty all over the DC beltway about the former navy seal have turned to open recognition of his success, and his talent.

He's been called a shark, an opportunist, and many other things. He won't disagree, because for the most part it's true, but he sleeps at night knowing what he does is for the better good. If they want to think he's a hard ass because of his methods, so be it. The people who work for him know his bark is worse than his bite.

Regardless, the general consensus is that Ryan McQuaid likes to win, and he likes to win big.

However, winning requires certain acts of diplomacy to keep clients happy, acts of diplomacy that Ryan would generally consider a waste of time. He also realizes that said wastes of time are a necessary evil in most cases. This is especially true when millions, and billions of dollars worth of contracts are involved.

So when his right hand man, Marcus Fitz, calls him to tell him that Langley is requesting to speak to him on a time sensitive issue, Ryan sighs into the jet's satellite phone, but refrains from rolling his eyes as he prepares to taxi to the runway for takeoff.

"Fucking spooks." Fitz crackles over the connection. "They think the world stops spinning just for them."

"Those fucking spooks pay the bills." Ryan points out with a laugh; not that he needs to, Fitz knows just as well as he does.

"Here's to another day of cleaning up their mess and putting food on the table." Fitz replies humorously. "I'm forwarding you the contact info now."

"Great, I'm leaving Dallas - with the Energy XXI contract in the bag I might add."

"Nice!"

"More than nice, I'll expect a full analysis on the situation with plans to move forward effective immediately when I get back. Anyway, once I get airborne I should be able to call out. Who is it I'm going to be talking to exactly?"

"The name was Walker, I think. Annie Walker."

* * *

Ryan agrees to fly to Chicago to meet her because he can't afford _not_ too.

The information he manages to scrounge up on Anne Catherine Walker in-flight isn't helpful in the least, but much to his relief, and in opposition to the information in her file, she is very much alive when he steps off the jet and onto the tarmac of O'hare International.

Minutes into their conversation he's made several key observations.

Her track record, or what little of it he accessed, is impressive. She's Langely's finest, but she's not the washed out, burnt out shell of a person he had imagined given the circumstances. She's arrogant during their exchange, borderline antagonistic, and he doesn't miss the fact that she's entirely aware of it - her smile says so. She isn't intimated, and his charm, almost always impossible to resist from what he's found, has no affect on her whatsoever. She's pretty in a fiery, wild and willful sort of way that makes him stare.

She intrigues him because she is absolutely nothing he expected.

Sometimes when you meet someone, there is an innate understanding that supersedes everything else from the moment you set eyes on them. There's no real rhyme, or reason, but the rest of the universe momentarily vanishes except for that one person. There's nothing else left - just an overwhelming sense of knowing.

Looking at Annie Walker, he _knows_.

He's never believed in coincidence.

He tries to bait her, but she counters his every attempt at witty repartee with her own, smiling innocently all the while. Pleasantries aside, she's still focused on her job, and she takes what little information on Borz that he'll offer. She seems amused by his attempts to dazzle her (and fail), but it doesn't deter him. Their handshake feels less like a goodbye and more like an affirmation that he's accepted an unspoken challenge.

"I like it." He calls after her as she walks away.

Annie hesitates, and much to his delight she turns back to face him. Her eyes are narrowed, her head tilted - curious.

"What?"

"You're awfully direct," he says seriously.

"It's a function of the job." She replies.

"No it's not. Most spies I know are lying sons of bitches."

He draws a short laugh from her, a rare sound with an even rarer smile to match it. She's staring straight at him, as if he should know better, as if to _warn_ him.

"I'm not most spies."

* * *

His trip to Chicago has unearthed more than he initially thought it would.

Ryan is sitting at his desk in DC, studying his computer screen where a digital copy of Borz Altan's file sits in perfect black and white. It's not the same file he sent to the CIA field office. Little did they know that it would have taken them hours to comb through the _real_ one, and little did they know that Ryan has been combing through the real for days now. When he first received news of Khalid Ansari's death, and Borz Altan's name rose to the surface during the aftermath, the connection had startled him. It couldn't be a coincidence that he was investigating Borz for his own reasons, and now this happens...

He thinks back to his brief conversation with Annie Walker, and it put's a bad taste in his mouth knowing what he knows now.

He doesn't like lying to anyone, and for whatever reason he feels especially bad for lying to _her_.

He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice Caitlin Cook, his second in command, come down the hall and stand in his doorway. She taps on the glass outside his office, and he looks up to see her wide eyes and pale, frightened expression staring back at him.

"Ryan…"

He stands up immediately and rounds the desk, his own concern sky rocketing. In all the years he's known her it's never been typical of Caitlin to offer any sort of detectable emotion during conversation, so the fact that she's standing in front of him now as if she'd seen a ghost is enough to alarm him.

"What's wrong?" He asks, closing the gap between them.

"It's the CIA facility in Chicago… Ryan, it's been attacked - there was a bomb."

This time he's the one who stands in complete disbelief, his face fallen, and it feels as if the air's been knocked out of his lungs. He runs a hand through his hair, his stomach in knots, and he closes his eyes briefly. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns to look out his office windows to the sprawling DC skyline, jaw clenched. He asks the question, bracing himself for the answer.

"Was anyone hurt?"

Caitlin drops her eyes to the floor, her voice grim.

"Twelve agents are dead."

* * *

Guilt is a terrible thing.

If you let it, it will sink it's claws in and refuse to let go. It eats a person from the inside out until there's nothing left but a shell. Guilt is what Ryan feels now as he stands in front of his desk. It's a monster he's fought once before.

The television echoes through through his otherwise quiet office. He flips through the news channels, brow furrowed, stance pensive. Various reports of an "electrical fire" in Chicago are airing. The images of the smoldering remains of the building are burned permanently into his memory, and with every lie out of the newscasters mouth his pulse pounds louder and louder in his head.

He loses it. He spins and slams the stack of folders and a glass paperweight off his desk, and they go crashing into the far wall. He steadies himself, both palms against the flat wood surface. Twelve Americans died today. Twelve families lost their loved ones and had nothing to show for it. The blood is on the hands of a man who once worked for him, a man who has been implicated in even more atrocious crimes, and who has now fled the country. Ryan briefly thinks of Annie Walker, the only CIA agent who managed to escape the blast, and his guilt only increases tenfold.

Because what if she_ hadn't?_

He decides that he has to stop Borz himself, before anyone else is hurt - he has to end whatever this is.

Little does he know how much that decision will cost him.

* * *

_**A/N:** First of all, wow you guys! Your response has been awesome. So, I hadn't planned on writing from Ryan's POV, but I figured what the hell - why not. You guys asked for him, so here he is! Thanks for the reviews you guys! Let me know what you think. xoxo_

_Shout out to Primadonna001 for her beta of this chapter!_


	4. Caught In The Spiral

**_Caught In The Spiral_**

When Annie arrives in Maracaibo in pursuit of Borz Altan, the last person she expects to see is Ryan McQuaid.

When she first met him, she immediately pegged him as an insufferable, vainglorious type. Now she can add _suspicious_ to her growing list of concerns. Why was he here, and what did he want with Borz Altan anyways?

Not only does McQuaid continue to dodge her questions, but he also seems adamant about getting in her way. From their initial run in at the Mosque, and now the debacle at Plaza Mejor, McQuaid's proving to be an even bigger pain in the ass than she expected. Thanks to him, Borz's contact is dead, and Borz himself is likely leaving a trail of blood across the city courtesy of the McQuaid Securities funded bullet lodged in his leg. There's nothing like making a scene in the middle of broad daylight, in a crowded public place no less, to get the local police's attention.

Real Mexican stand off _indeed_.

To say she's pissed is an understatement.

What's more infuriating is that Annie didn't plan on spending her afternoon handcuffed and sitting with McQuaid on the sidewalk, baking in the Venezuela summer sun. She's determined to sit and brood, mourning the loss of her gun to the sewage systems of Maracaibo, and watching with growing agitation for the police officer that confiscated her nitrate medication.

Despite her best efforts to ignore McQuaid (who chatters on beside her as if being detained in a foreign country is a normal, everyday thing for him), Annie finds herself baited back into the conversation, not wanting to admit that his devil-may-care attitude is starting to intrigue her. Even his valiant attempts to recruit her are amusing, and before long he has the usually stoic Annie Walker laughing again, much to her own surprise.

"Soldiers, spies, poets, teachers, these are the most unappreciated professions I know. Now I can't fix the poets or the teachers, but people like you? I can you show you you're appreciated."

"You don't know me at all."

She shakes her head at him, rolling her eyes behind her sunglasses. He smiles back at her, bright eyed and sincere, even after everything. His persistence is admirable, attractive even, but he's making an assumption that he can help her.

She doesn't have the heart to tell him she's too far beyond help.

* * *

McQuaid leaves her there on the sidewalk under the pretense that's she's chosen sides, and that she's being punished for choosing the wrong one. She wants to be mad, but even when she watches him dump her cellphone, the one she planted on his SUV, she finds herself more entertained by his antics than angry.

She decides she'll let him win just this once.

Underestimating her though, will be McQuaid's first and last mistake. Before long she's talked her way out of the handcuffs, no bribes filled with American money necessary - just a story about a boob job and the personality of a ditzy, impressionable blonde to swoon the Maracaibo police officer in her favor.

She tries not to panic when he tells her he doesn't know where her nitrate medication is.

She tries to ignore the dizzy feeling that hits her as she walks back to her car.

* * *

In the past the chase would have been a welcome challenge, the race, the _running_, a source of adrenaline, a hit for someone addicted to the the rush.

Now it's like playing a game of Russian Roulette, and she's the one holding the gun.

Annie flies down the trail in hot pursuit of a fleeing Borz, cussing McQuaid the entire time, because a man with a bullet in his leg shouldn't be able to outrun her (_that good of a shot my ass_). Her heart is racing in her chest, but she ignores it, determination driving her forward. She tackles Borz on the dock just as he tries to unmoor the small boat waiting for him there.

It's a short struggle, but fierce nonetheless. He manages to get the tire iron (her MacGyver weapon of the day in lieu of her deceased pistol) out of her hands, but it doesn't deter her. Under normal circumstances Borz might have been able to overpower her, but he's injured and exhausted. Annie's vicious right hook to the head is enough to stop him.

Borz collapses, but Annie does too.

She can feel it coming, the sound of her pulse always turns into a deafening echo inside her head right before it happens. The world spins in slow motion. She tries to steady herself on her hands and knees, but her body is failing her and she falls to her side. She'll never be able to prepare herself for the indescribable agony of not being able to breathe - of _drowning_.

Convulsing, her lungs constricted, her heart screaming for relief, that's when she sees the boat on the river.

She sees Ryan.

Then darkness.

* * *

She's disoriented when she wakes up, temporarily terrified, and she almost attacks the doctor hovering over her. She would have too, if it weren't for McQuaid stopping her. She falls back onto the bed in reluctant defeat. He watches her from across the room, assuring her that she's safe here, arms crossed and pensive; a sentinel.

The doctor questions her about her vitals, and she begrudgingly admits to her heart condition because she has no choice. She _hates_ it, this weakness, because it reduces her to a state of vulnerability she has no control over.

Annie refuses to meet McQuaid's eyes. She doesn't want his patronization or his pity. Her admission exposes the fact that she isn't invincible, that she isn't indestructible, that she's breaking.

So she doesn't see the way he looks at her in those few seconds.

She doesn't see the way it breaks _him_.

* * *

Annie stays out on the deck of McQuaid's safe house for a good while after speaking with Auggie on the phone. She wants to compose herself before going back inside, because the last thing she needs any of them to think - McQuaid especially - is that her emotional state is as volatile as her heart.

She loses track of time, and her distant stare out toward the ocean from her perch against the wood railing is interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind her. She spins around to see McQuaid standing in the open doorway, debating with himself on whether or not to step the rest of the way outside or stand still. He has a paper bag in his hand.

They stand awkwardly for a moment, neither one of them sure of the other.

"I thought you might be hungry," he gestures to the bag, and finally steps forward, offering it to her with a genuine smile that catches her off guard. "I got us some _pabellón criollo_, from this awesome food stand down the road, I wasn't sure if you'd eaten anything…"

Annie eyes him skeptically, and McQuaid rolls his eyes.

"I promise it's not poisoned, Walker, now c'mon - eat."

McQuaid gestures to the small deck table and proceeds to take a seat, placing the bag on the table top and pulling out two take-out containers and some plastic dinner ware, ignoring the unconvinced look on her face as she stands there and watches him. After a moment of indecision, Annie rounds the table and sits across from him.

"Thanks." Annie murmurs softly.

"Yeah." McQuaid nods. "No problem."

He pauses what he's doing to look up at her, and she catches him staring, but this time she doesn't look away.

"Are you ok?" He asks. The question is sincere, concerned.

She's hesitant to answer, hesitant to trust him. Her wary nature stems from a myriad of reasons, but mostly because she doesn't understand why he's so worried. She doesn't understand why he _cares_.

"Honestly? I'm not sure."

He nods again, but much to Annie's surprise he doesn't press her, and they both begin to eat without saying anything else. The silence that follows is comfortable, easy, so much so that it almost feels normal. It almost feels familiar.

When Ryan looks up a second time, she's the one caught staring.

* * *

**_AN:_**_ You guys really rock! I'm digging that you're digging it - ha! Seriously the reviews are great. Hope you enjoy Annie's POV again, we'll have more Ryan the next round. I am taking your ideas into consideration so don't be afraid to tell me. Special thanks once more to Primadonna001! Also I never asked, but did y'all love 510 or what? I'm hating the hiatus, but I'm pumped to have this story and you guys to share the break with. I hope you enjoy it! xoxo_


	5. Try To Fuse The Break

**_Try To Fuse The Break_**

Five hours to the Colombian border is a quick trip in comparison to some of the ones Ryan's taken before, and far more luxurious behind the wheel of the BMW he's driving. Long gone are his days as a Navy Seal, driving armored utility vehicles in places where roads didn't even exist and luxury was a myth. For whatever reason though, this drive seems to last forever.

He keeps his eyes on the road ahead of him, trusting Jim and Fitz to run point from the back, but every so often he allows his attention to drift to the woman in the passenger seat beside him. An hour in and Annie's struggling to stay awake. He doesn't miss the way every inch of her body screams exhaustion, but she fights it, staring out the window in stubborn refusal to succumb to sleep. He would be lying if he didn't admit her tenacity and her spirit are two of the things that impressed him from the beginning. Even so, Ryan is finding it difficult to compartmentalize his growing concern for her, especially given what he knows now.

And maybe _that's_ why the time seems to pass so painfully slow. As memories flood his mind, his thoughts drift to places he'd rather they not go.

Annie isn't his to worry about.

He thinks about how they found her at the dock. He thinks about the panic, how helpless he'd felt when they made it to the safe house and she wouldn't wake up. He thinks about how he'd tried not to hover over the doctor. He thinks about watching her lie in that bed and how lifeless she'd looked.

The familiarity, the distant grief, isn't something he wants to remember.

* * *

They're three hours into the drive with two left to go before they reach the border crossing that will take them into Colombia. Ryan alternates between humming along to the radio and attempting to steal glances at her when he _thinks_ she's not looking.

Annie catches him almost every time.

"_What_?" She finally prompts, her exasperation impossible to hide. In the back seat even Fitz, who's known for his silent vigils and borderline mute tendencies, is doing his very best not to crack a grin. Before Ryan can answer her, Jim leans forward on the console between them.

"Y'see, it's not everyday we get to go gallivanting across the world with beautiful women." Jim explains, giving the appearance of seriousness, but emphasizing his words with theatrical hand gestures. "What I mean to say is, I think the boss man here might be just a little bit enamored by you."

"Shut up, Jim." Ryan elbows him jokingly. "Don't think I won't reassign you when we get stateside."

"Yeah, yeah, sure you will." Jim moves back into his seat, unfazed by the empty threat.

"I not sure enamored is the right word." Annie comments wryly. "I make things more… exciting."

"I'm not sure _exciting_ is the right word." Fitz deadpans.

With the aid of the rearview mirror, Annie feigns insult by shooting Fitz a steely glare that could kill.

"He finally speaks!" Jim announces dramatically, shoving Fitz from his side of the car.

Like overgrown children the two men fall into a half-hearted skirmish of shoulder punches and name calling. Annie turns in her seat to watch them, clearly amused, interceding with her own jabs at random, accompanied by the occasional sound of her laughter.

Ryan watches _her_.

The smile edging it's way onto her face is actual, artless, and when she does laugh it's genuine. He wishes, fleetingly, that he could hear it more often and under different circumstances. He can't help but notice the way her hair falls out of the bun, pooling around her shoulders in messy, golden curls as she leans against the window. Her hazel eyes are bright, full of the same fire he saw on the very first day he met her. He can breathe easier watching a little bit of her light, her vibrancy_,_ return and replace the weariness that seemed to weigh her down.

"I think I like this one, boss." Jim decides jovially, hooking his thumb in Annie's direction and snapping Ryan out of his trance.

Annie's wearing a triumphant grin, her arms crossed and eyes raised as if daring him to say otherwise. This time when Ryan steals one last glance in her direction, he's not afraid to hold her gaze for a second longer than he would have before. Much to his surprise, Annie doesn't look away.

"Funny." Ryan muses. "I think I like her too."

The truth is that he _is_ enamored.

Annie Walker fascinates him.

* * *

They reach the Guarero border crossing not long after sunrise. The checkpoint is crowded and noisy, which isn't surprising. Vendors line the rows of cars trying to sell their goods, while tourists and locals hang out of the transit busses, all of them baking in the early morning humidity while they wait for the border patrol guards to do their sweeps.

Ryan's confident that there's just enough commotion and chaos to be the distraction that works in their favor.

He's pleased with the situation.

Annie's not.

He sincerely hopes this won't become a regular arrangement.

"Me and the boys have had some good times in Colombia, you ever been Walker?" Ryan tries to entice her with small talk. He almost misses the brief flash of sadness that clouds her expression at the mention of the country. However, it's annihilated by her unimpressed, irritated expression, which gives him the illusion that his efforts are wasted.

"We should've picked a smaller border crossing," she replies flatly. "There are too many unknown variables here."

"The busier the better. I haven't seen them look in one trunk since we've got here, they just want to clear the traffic."

"This car costs four times more than any other one here, they're going to look in the trunk just to see if there's anything they can _steal_."

Much to his chagrin, she's right.

* * *

_**AN:** There are so many opportunities for "deleted" scene moments from the 503 episode. I look forward to taking advantage of that. Also knowing what we know now about Ryan up to the most recent episode, 510, I think it's fun to sort of play on those emotions here. We have insight into his character we didn't have before. Also, shout out to my Mythiefoftime, because I promised a scene with Annie and "the boys". I think she fits right in, to be honest. I hope y'all enjoy it, thanks for the love! Let me know what you think, and what else you might want to see. xoxo_


	6. Two Falling Sparks

**_Two Falling Sparks_**

Annie sees it coming, but it's already too late. One of the adolescent boys surrounding the car picks the lock, opening the trunk.

He might as well have opened Pandora's Box.

"Hey- _Hey_!"

She's shouting and out of the car before anyone realizes what's happening, but it's not fast enough. Wide eyed in disbelief at the sight of the battered and beaten man in the trunk, the young man only freezes for a fraction of a second before his shocked silence gives way to screams of terror.

"_Policía! Policía!_"

Fitz and Jim both dart from the back seat, each of them taking off after the sprinting delinquents who are yelling at the top of their lungs, turning every head in the vicinity in their direction, _including_ the guards. McQuaid races to the back of the BMW, slamming the trunk shut, and Annie circles around to the front of the car where she has a clear view of the security station. More men in uniforms emerge with the escalating commotion, and more guns.

_Shit_.

"Get back in the car, Ryan!"

Annie doesn't wait for an argument and he doesn't give her one. This time she climbs into the drivers seat, McQuaid taking shotgun while Fitz and Jim dive into the back. The sound of slamming doors, various profanities, and shouts from the guards are barely audible over the roar of the engine as she throws the car into reverse and floors it.

The screech of metal tears at the air as she rams into the car behind them. Annie quickly uses the extra space to move them out of line, but the sight that greets her is hardly ideal. A row of guards now race toward them, guns in the air, threatening them to stop.

Following the rules has never really been her style.

Taking a breath, Annie puts the car in reverse one more time.

The BMW flies backwards from zero to sixty in four seconds flat, traveling a hundred yards at what feels like the speed of light. Ignoring the wide-eyed looks of the two men in the backseat, and McQuaid, Annie hits the breaks once they're parallel with the main road. In a simultaneous move she spins the wheels, whirling the car around to face the opposite direction before shifting back into drive and gunning for the exit. She skirts the edge of the ramp, cutting a supply truck off in the process, and she watches with a satisfied smirk as one of the security trucks in pursuit of them t-bones it.

The three men in the car are temporarily stunned into silence.

"Holy hell, Jeff Gordon." Jim breathes, awestruck, both he and Fitz releasing their white knuckled grips from the doors. "Where did _that_ come from?"

"_That_-" Fitz concedes, "-was impressive."

"I'll sign autographs later." Annie smarts back.

Meanwhile, McQuaid's initial astonishment quickly gives way to childish glee. He chuckles beside her as they fly down the highway, as if there wasn't a terrorist in the trunk of their car, or an entire Venezuelan police force chasing after them. She's almost certain he'll drive her insane by the time this is over - his audacity nothing short of maddening. As far as she's concerned the fact that they're even in this situation to begin with is _his_ fault.

"What's so funny?" She demands.

Ryan grins, and shrugs - entirely insufferable.

"_You_."

* * *

It's an eight hour drive to Caracas with only an incapacitated Borz and one Ryan McQuaid for company.

Annie agrees to go to McQuaid's safe house, because as much as she hates to admit it, she knows he's right. Nothing is certain anymore, a concept that isn't unfamiliar to her, but unsettling none the less given the circumstances. The idea that an agency safe house might not be safe is a bitter reminder of what Annie already knows; that sometimes the things you want to believe in the most are the very things you learn you can't trust.

"You're sure Jim and Fitz will be ok on their own?" She asks, trying to tamp down her mounting anxiety, and focus on the passing Venezuela countryside outside her window.

"Not a doubt in my mind." He assures, back behind the wheel of the car.

Annie nods, readjusting her position so that she's facing him again. She studies him, taking note that he seems just as distracted as she does, not that it surprises her. As reckless and arrogant as he can be, Ryan's not oblivious to the fact that they're playing with fire. There's no denying the gravity of the situation, or the collateral damage waiting for them if they fail again. She can see how it eats at him, knowing he's made a mistake, and the look of regret on his face is something she's well acquainted with.

As the minutes pass, McQuaid seems to grow more agitated, and he finally breaks the uncomfortable quiet.

"I'm sorry."

Annie tilts her head, her expression quizzical.

"For what, exactly?"

"For not listening."

* * *

"We should stop and give Borz water soon." Annie suggests, watching the rising temperature on the BMW's thermostat. "With the way our luck's been…" She doesn't finish the sentence. She doesn't have to.

McQuaid nods in agreement, and a few minutes later they pull over.

He stands guard watching the road while she coaxes a bound Borz to drink from a plastic water bottle. Her expression is grim as the injured man coughs most of it up. She checks his pulse, watches his breathing, and after a few moments decides they're steady enough.

At least for now.

She throws the water bottle back into the black bag in the back seat, and that's when she spots the brief flash of gray and red plastic nestled amongst the money and other supplies there. Auto injectors, at least five of them, still in the packaging. It takes her by surprise, and she realizes that in the wake of everything she'd forgotten all about them.

Ryan must have put them there.

"Everything ok?" He asks as she climbs back into the passenger side.

"I…" Annie hesitates, embarrassed. "I didn't even think about my medicine."

"Oh." McQuaid's expression softens. "Yeah, I assumed they were on the must-have list."

"Ryan McQuaid, he reads poetry _and_ makes lists." Annie teases.

"My mother was an English teacher, and I was a boy scout before I was a seal." He explains humorously.

Annie rolls her eyes, but smiles, and they fall back into a comfortable silence as Ryan pulls onto the road.

"Thank you." She adds quietly.

Their eyes meet again, as they have so many times before over the last forty eight hours. It's a fleeting glance, but what is usually a simple gesture between two people has somehow become something far more complicated.

When she looks away from him this time, it feels indescribably different.

* * *

_**AN:** More love to __Primadonna001 for betaing for me, you rock! Shout out to MrMsMingus too, for being my soul sister. I did a lot of research, Maracaibo to the border to Caracas and back is a lot of driving haha, but that just means more "deleted" scene moments for me to write for you guys! Also, as requested, Annie showing off her mad driving skills. __Primadonna001 mentioned how Annie is sorely missing friendship/camaraderie in her life, and these guys could definitely be an outlet for that in theory - it's at theory I like at least. Hope you guys love it as much as I do. Stay tuned for more. xoxo_


	7. One Willing Fool

**_One Willing Fool_**

The rest of the drive to Caracas is relatively uneventful. However, that changes soon after their arrival. It would be Ryan's luck that he'd get the enigmatic Annie Walker to let her walls down, just to have the moment inauspiciously interrupted. They're well on their way to enjoying Jim's bourbon when Borz starts gasping for air from where they left him on the safe house floor.

His lung is collapsing.

When Annie said she made things more exciting, Ryan hadn't taken her seriously.

One wasted bottle of bourbon and homemade chest tube later, he promises he'll never make that mistake again.

* * *

The problem now is that the status quo has shifted even further out of their favor, and they're running out of time to turn the tables.

Even with his self-taught field medic skills (courtesy of a tactical mission gone wrong during his days as _Lieutenant Commander _McQuaid), he knows Borz has a few hours at best if they don't find help. He can only describe the look on Annie's face when he tells her this as gutted. Ryan's not naive though, as much as he believes in Annie's capacity for compassion, he knows her turmoil has little to do with remorse for the dying man in front of them.

No, what's killing her is that Borz Altan's secrets may die with him.

She looks frozen, suspended in the air over Borz's unnaturally still body, her hands braced on his shoulders as if she could will the life back into him. Her need for him to live is only matched by her determination to find the truth - the very same principle that's motivated her from the beginning. Ryan recognizes the passion, the purpose, and more than anything he respects it. She's driven by a doggedness and stubborn, unshakeable resolve that - for a moment - reminds him of himself.

He owes it to her, after everything, to help her find the answers she's so desperately looking for.

But they have to find a doctor first.

"This guy doesn't know protocol, the only way to make sure he isn't being followed is for me-" Ryan makes one last adjustment to the chest tube, "-to go there and bring him back myself."

Annie's torn between argument and agreement. She knows that if Ryan takes even one step out of the house, it's potentially putting them all at risk. She also knows that if he doesn't, and Borz dies, all of this will have been for nothing. She moves to the rasping man's side, supporting the chest tube with her hand while she watches Ryan cross the room to his bag, where he digs out a fresh wad of cash, and a gun.

"Hey, you need anything while I'm out?" He asks casually, sticking the gun at the small of his back and donning his jacket. "Toothpaste or, I dunno, bubblegum?"

Annie only stares at him, completely floored by his ability to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary - as if their lives weren't in danger.

"Every badge in Venezuela is out looking for you, you're not fazed by that?" She asks incredulously.

Ryan flashes her his signature smile, but his nervous laugh is hardly a picture of confidence. There's no point in lying to her: sugar coating things has never really been one of his talents, and it certainly isn't now.

"Well actually, I'm scared shitless, but that's part of the fun, right?"

* * *

He's certain things can't get worse.

But they do.

He doesn't make it five blocks from the safe house before he realizes that the neighborhood is swarming with Venezuelan police officers. He manages to reach the small grocery store with the pay phone he had planned on using. However, all it takes is for him to over hear one conversation with the store owner and an officer (involving uncomfortably close descriptions of both his and Annie's physical appearances) to send him racing back to her.

When he bursts into the house, frantic and breathless, he's too caught up in trying to figure out another escape plan to even wonder what she's talking to Borz about. He quickly begins gathering what he can into the one black bag, and wastes no time in giving Annie the ultimatum he's arrived at: that they have to leave - _now_.

Saving _them_ becomes his only priority.

That's when they both hear the knock at the door.

* * *

"They must have followed you here." Annie scrambles to her feet and the knocks on the door echo through the house, accompanied by the less than patient demands of the police waiting for them on the other side.

"Nobody was following me." Ryan's frustration is biting, and he reloads the clip of his gun with more force than necessary. "As I said, they're canvasing the _entire_ area."

"What are you doing?" Annie eyes the gun in his hands, working especially hard to keep her anxiety from escalating into hysteria.

"We're going to have to fight our way out of here!" He waves his gun, as if the answer is obvious.

"We can't fight our way out and carry Borz at the same time! And I am _not_ leaving him here. He is my only link to Chicago."

Annie's fierce refusal stops Ryan in his tracks. He can't believe it. He can't believe _her_. Here Annie Walker stands with every single odd possible stacked against her, and she's still fighting for the win, even with the wolves at the door.

"Ok." He takes a breath. "If you have a better idea, I'd love to hear it."

Annie hesitates, but then she spins around and dives for the chair behind her. That's when Ryan spies the needle and syringe sitting there, and he watches her as she flies into action before he can stop her - jabbing the needle into Borz's leg. The realization hits him - _morphine_.

"What are _you_ doing?" This time _he_ is the one near hysterics.

"A Hail Mary." Annie mutters. "Now are you going to stand there, or are you going to help me carry him up the stairs?"

* * *

Annie's either insane, brilliant, or both.

Ryan manages to drag Borz up the flight of stairs to the second floor, cussing because he could've sworn he was in better shape than this, while Annie takes the steps two and three at a time ahead of him. She disappears once she reaches the top, a blur of motorcycle boots and blonde hair. When he rounds the corner into the master bedroom he's winded and wishing he knew what the hell she was planning.

Her pile of clothes at the foot of the bed isn't helping him figure that out.

"Am I missing something?" He calls to her, struggling to hold up Borz's morphine-induced dead weight.

When she reappears at the edge of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, he's beginning to think insanity might be the more likely verdict.

Not that he's complaining. If he dies today, at least he can say the view was exceptional.

"In the shower, _now_." Annie gestures backward with one hand to the sound of running water, clutching the towel around her with the other.

"I feel like we're taking things way too fast." Ryan declares facetiously. "For the record, when I asked you out to dinner this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

She shakes her head at him, forever nonplused by his persistence. He can only hope that someday his efforts might be rewarded when she finally realizes he doesn't plan on giving up.

Instead of wasting any more precious time questioning her, he does as he's told. Ryan drags Borz through the narrow bathroom door, trying not to think about how incredibly close she is, which given the small space is practically impossible. To make matters worse their shoulders brush as she sidesteps out of his way, and both of them immediately stutter over awkward apologies and averted gazes, as if imminent death or detainment was the least of their worries.

The knocking below resumes with more force, along with the increasingly aggressive clamor of the law enforcement behind it. The noise pulls both of them back into the moment, and the gravity of the situation is suddenly suffocating. Annie falters for a fraction of a second, as if she's fighting with herself. She opens her mouth like she's going to say something, searches Ryan's face, but the words never come. More shouts from below cause her to flinch, and she quickly dashes for the door.

"Hey-" he stops her and she wheels back around, startled, "- if we do make it out of here alive, I really _do_ want to take you to dinner."

Annie rolls her eyes, unimpressed, but smiling.

"Making it out alive should be the least of you worries." She assures him with a wink. "It's dinner I can't promise."

Before he can argue, she's gone.

* * *

_**AN: **This chapter was more character study and less deleted scenes, but I liked writing it from Ryan's POV, because as viewers our vantage point is nearly always from Annie's perspective. Like I said, I like to get inside their heads and see what all makes them tick. It's so great to have such awesome starting points with as rich and deep as the emotions have been on the show this season in comparison to the past. So I hope I'm doing some justice by tapping at least a little bit of that. Thanks for the reviews you guys, they mean a lot! Hope you continue to enjoy it! xoxo_


	8. Heroes And Monsters

**Heroes And Monsters**

The time Annie spends convincing the police that she's a harmless drug addict with expensive vacation tastes feels like an eternity.

Every second that passes is another second too long, and waiting for the second officer to come back down the stairs when his commander calls him off the hunt is quite possibly one of the most torturous experiences of her entire existence. A thousand scenarios have flown through her head if things were to go south - none of them with happy endings. So when the officers finally, _finally_ deem her too useless to waste anymore effort on, it feels like salvation.

They kick the empty syringe across the house, sneering and muttering their obscenities in Spanish slang, before marching to the door and slamming it behind them.

Annie bores holes into their backs as they go, simpering and smug, her smile a picture perfect image of unadulterated satisfaction.

It appears they'll make it out alive after all.

She's almost disappointed knowing this means she'll have to come up with more excuses as to why she can't have dinner with McQuaid.

Almost.

* * *

When she pulls back the shower curtain, reflex causes her to jump when she realizes she's staring down the barrel of McQuaid's gun. He drops it to his side quickly once he sees it's her, readjusting his grip around Borz waist as he lowers him to the ground. Annie quickly shuts off the shower; both of them are drenched from head to toe, and she tries to ignore the rivulets of red running down Borz shirt.

"They're gone." She breathes, visibly relieved.

"Nice work." McQuaid commends, jovial despite the fact that he's soaked to the bone.

"We should get him in some dry clothes and get out of here." She eyes Borz, covered in his own blood and still wheezing. She can't ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

"I'll take care of that." McQuaid offers, and then very seriously adds, "Can I borrow your towel?"

Annie's not sure she'll ever quite understand his ill-timed sense of humor. Try as she might to fix him with a disapproving scowl, she can't stop the smile from reaching her eyes when she walks away and his laugh follows her.

* * *

She finally gets her hour with Borz.

Annie watches him lie prostrate on the floor, pale and weak and fading, pushing him for answers. There's new blood on his shirt, on his mouth. He's breathing, but the whisper reminds her of death. She's heard it before. It's not something she can forget.

She thinks she should feel something - anything. This is the man responsible for so much destruction. This is the man responsible for so much death. This is the man that killed _Charlie_. And yet the only thing Annie feels is a gaping emptiness, a void that swallows her whole, because staring at him - watching him die - all she can see are the shattered pieces of a man who chose the ultimate sacrifice at the cost of his soul.

She would ask herself why faith fractures into desperation, why heroes become monsters, but she already knows the answer.

She's been one all along.

"Tell me what I need to know, and I will help Oksana."

Her hands are folded, as if in prayer, but not for the dying man in front of her.

It's for herself.

* * *

"You never answered my question about Colombia, y'know, before shit hit the fan back at the border crossing."

Annie doesn't hear McQuaid at first, her eyes focused on the road ahead, her head in an entirely different place. Caracas and Borz Altan's dead body are far behind them now thanks to the stolen Audi they're sitting in. McQuaid tried to help fill the time with small talk, but to little avail. She's spent the last few hours in her own silent daze thinking about Chicago, about The Postman, and Borz's dying words.

She keeps thinking about how he had said his sister's name.

"Walker? You ok?" When McQuaid reaches over to touch her shoulder, she flinches involuntarily, and then she feels bad when she sees the hurt look on his face.

"Sorry. Sleep deprivation must be catching up with me." She lies. "What were you saying?"

McQuaid's not buying it, but he doesn't press her.

"I asked if you've ever been to Colombia."

"Oh…" Annie averts her gaze. A different kind of daze hits her, a different kind of grief. "Yes."

"That's it? Just a yes?" McQuaid teases, oblivious. "No wild stories? No knife fights or bar surfing?"

"Har har." Annie casts him a sideways glare, expertly deflecting. "Am I supposed to believe that's what you do with your free time? Dinner is sounding less and less appealing."

"That's not exactly fair." McQuaid points out, half serious and feigning injury. "As I recall, you're the one who likes to make things exciting."

Annie scowls, arms crossed, lips in a thin line, to which McQuaid shrugs and grins. She doesn't say anything for a while after that, and an uncomfortable silence fills the car.

Annie doesn't understand McQuaid, what he wants from her, but what's more frustrating is that she doesn't understand what she wants from him, or why she continues to let him pull her back in. She's spent the entire time in Venezuela trying to keep him out, but despite her best efforts he's somehow managed to work past each of her defenses. Perhaps it's his persistence she admires, or his sincerity, but there's a fine line between respect and something entirely different. Something more dangerous.

She doesn't trust herself to walk that line and stay on the right side of it, and yet…

"I spent time in Medellín." She says suddenly. "I had a friend - a really good friend - who was from there."

"Oh yeah?" McQuaid's surprised, but pleased that she's speaking to him. "What's this friend up to now?"

"He's dead."

"Shit… I'm sorry, Walker."

"So am I, everyday."

Annie's heart aches and a flood of memories threatens to overwhelm her. She thinks about Teo, about the last car ride she took with him, and suddenly the pain in her chest is worse than any heart attack could ever be. It's a regret that she will carry with her forever.

She fights the heat form her face and clenches her teeth. She stares at the road again because she can't force herself to look at Ryan. If she had looked at Ryan, she might have seen how his face fell for her. She might have seen the sadness in his eyes, the unequivocal transcendence of what it is to understand someone.

She might have seen everything she wanted.

* * *

_**AN:** So writing this gave me all sorts of feels. Annie is in such a dark place at the end of season 4, and I feel like she's still in the place right now in season 5. So much happened to her, and she sacrificed so much, and broke a lot of relationships because of it (Auggie, Joan, the agency, even her sister). Knowing Annie she has to carry the guilt of what happened with her, especially Teo's death. I was glad I found a way to sneak his name in - I miss him so much. Anyway, I think some of that "darkness" is still there with Annie, she's not the same light hearted, hopeful spy we knew at the beginning of her story. She's been directly involved in a lot of death and destruction. I think because of that she's very lost, very far away from herself, and I would like to think that Ryan is sort of pulling her back to a place where she can be ok, if she will let him do that. Hope y'all like it, thanks for the love! xoxo_

_Musical inspiration: "Heroes and Monsters" by Penny and Sparrow._


	9. Same Town, New Story

**_Same Town, New Story_**

They make it back to the edge of Maracaibo. Kids are playing soccer in the road, and adults sit on their stoops watching with narrowed, suspicious eyes. The two foreigners that roll up in the six figure Audi are quite the sight. Ryan pulls the car to a stop, and proceeds to step out of the vehicle without any warning, much to Annie's surprise. She follows his lead, but with some uncertainty.

"Is this really time for a pitstop?" She asks, surveying the surrounding area, skeptical and unconvinced.

Ryan looks from her, to the road, then back again, and as if on cue, the bus he's waiting for appears out of the dusty summer Venezuelan haze. It rattles and hisses to a stop in front of them, sun bleached, peeling paint, mismatched tires and all. This would be their final chariot to freedom: the look on Annie's face when the realization hits her is priceless.

"_This_ is our ride." He announces, the corners of his eyes wrinkling behind his sunglasses despite his best effort to keep a strait face.

"You're taking it cheap to Colombia?" Annie's dubious - he had made it clear he only traveled in style.

"What's the matter? I thought you were into non flashy; this is about as non flashy as it gets." Ryan grabs the black bag off the ground, and they step off the curb together into the throng of locals boarding the bus.

"No I'm fine, I'm just surprised." Annie's eyes sweep up and down the bus, and then to Ryan before delivering her punchline. He can spy it coming from a mile away: "I didn't know open air windows satisfied your air conditioning requirements."

"The only requirement that I have is to get the job done. If I have to sweat my ass off in an overcrowded bus, so be it." Without skipping a beat, Ryan clambers up into the bus, turning around to offer her a lift up. "I can live and be hot and sweaty, as long as I keep living y'know?"

"Yeah." Annie deadpans, not buying his honorable martyrdom for a second.

She takes his hand and Ryan pulls her up into the bus with ease. Annie hardly gives the appearance of frailty, and her vice-like grip is far from fragile, but Ryan had forgotten how light she is. He remembers carrying her into the safe house in Maracaibo like it was yesterday, but he pushes the memories away, tamping down the swell of emotion in his chest that he can't quite shake, and burying the increasingly obvious truth with it.

_You like her, maybe too much._

Annie squeezes past him, her palm balancing against the flat of his back before sliding into the seat on the far side of the bus. Ryan tires to ignore the trail of her fingers, the burn, as he settles in beside her.

But when she smiles at him, he can't.

* * *

Ryan watches Annie for the better part of their five hour bus ride back to the border crossing, much like he did the first time, but she's so far lost in her head today that she doesn't seem to notice. She's spent the majority of the time starting at something off in the distance. He imagines she sees things he can't, her own demons and ghosts, but his curiosity doesn't keep him from conjuring up his own ideas. Something is eating at her, that much he can tell, but just knowing that isn't enough to satisfy him.

"You're awfully quiet." He observes thoughtfully.

"Just trying to stay alert." Annie shrugs, indifferent.

Ryan may very well crown her queen of deflection, but as talented as she may be, he's not so easily deterred.

"No you're not." He argues, peering at her over the top of his sunglasses. "You're thinking can I trust this guy? Who is he really? Is he a war profiteer, is he a mercenary? Believe it or not I'm a patriot just like you."

"I like this little trick you're doing," she replies dryly, "trying to open up, to get me to open up."

Ryan smirks at that.

His trick _will_ work eventually, she just doesn't know it yet.

* * *

They almost make it through the border crossing without any incident, though in hindsight Ryan supposes he should have seen it coming. Annie Walker is his company after all, and _excitement_ follows her wherever she goes. Except when the bus roles to a stop at the checkpoint, he's pretty sure it's dread and not excitement that makes his hair stand on end.

"Is this our guy?" Annie eyes the approaching guard with muted anxiety.

"Our guy was supposed to wave our bus through the crossing." Ryan mutters under his breath, fishing out their passports from the bag beside him.

Things can never be easy.

Of course the guard checks their bag, of all the bags, and of course the stacks of cash are suspicious enough to warrant confiscating it and pulling both of them off for questioning. He has to give the girl credit, even now Annie's spinning a wild tale about winning the money at a casino, trying to talk her way out of another sticky situation. This guy isn't buying it though, and Ryan's starting to think they might have to run for their lives - again.

But at the last possible second, just when hope seems lost, their contact appears out of the security checkpoint office, a proverbial savior suited in Venezuelan border patrol tan with an AK-47 at his hip.

Better late than never. Several apologies and assurances that Caitlin Cook will not seek retribution later, they're back on the bus, and Venezuela is behind them.

Ryan's never been so happy to see Colombia.

If the look on Annie's face is anything to go by, neither has she.

* * *

It'll be another few hours until they rendezvous with Dex, their ride to the airstrip. However, even though the end is in sight, this last leg of the journey is undoubtedly the longest. Ryan has kept a careful watch over Annie; the rising afternoon temperatures have him slightly paranoid. He can't tell if it's the heat, the sheer exhaustion or her heart, but she's visibly struggling despite her valiant efforts to hide it.

He glances to his side, for his bag - and then his heart drops when he remembers it's back at the border crossing. And so is her nitrate medication.

"Hey." He says suddenly, turning to Annie, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah?" Annie's tilts her head sideways with a yawn.

Her indifference is puzzling, troubling even. Ryan can't help but wonder if blocking it out is her fail safe mechanism, or if she's just convinced herself that the truth is a lie to survive.

"They took the bag."

He's becoming less and less adept at keeping his worry in check, but part of him is beginning to care less and less about hiding it - a risky combination, perhaps. Annie sees it, and her expression softens. He swears, if just for a moment, that something about the way she looks at him is different too.

"Don't worry." She pulls back her vest, revealing a hidden pocket, and the auto injector she's smuggled inside it. "I'm one step ahead of you, boy scout."

He sighs, relieved, and leans back against the seat.

"I'm dropping the ball." He jokes, but in reality he really isn't joking.

"No you're not, Ryan."

When she says his name (his _real_ name) it feels less like talking to a stranger and more like talking to someone who's known him for a lifetime.

Annie reaches over and squeezes his knee, a touch of reassurance, but it catches him off guard in the best of unexpected ways. He tries not to feel disappointed when she draws away, almost as if she's the one burned this time. In seconds she's effectively redrawn the line in the sand between them, much to his dismay.

She disappears back into herself, and he lets her because he gets it. She finally closes her eyes, something she's avoided doing around him for the near entirety of their adventure. A few minutes later exhaustion finally wins out over her resolve and she's sound asleep.

Before long her head finds his shoulder.

Maybe he's selfish, but Ryan can't help but feel like it's right where she should be.

* * *

_**AN:** Ahhh, finally, they made it out alive! I'm not sure who I enjoy writing for more, Annie or Ryan, or both. We knew so little about Ryan at this point, that knowing what we know now makes it especially interesting to try and project what he might have been thinking during these early episodes. Thanks for the reviews lovelies! I try to respond to everyone and say thank you, and if you're a guest know that I appreciate you too! It's so fun to see what everyone thinks, your thoughts are super intriguing to me and it's fun to muse over all the "what ifs", as my beta Primadonna001 has said haha. Also when I see "this could be the actual script" comments, y'all make me blush, I love you! Moving into 504 and 505, there will be lots of potential for filling in missing areas. I can't wait! xoxo_


	10. Pick It Up, Start Again

**_Pick It Up, Start Again_**

Annie didn't recall seeing any pillows on this bus.

When she blinks her eyes open and sits up, she's mortified when she realizes the pillow is actually McQuaid's shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She says hastily, trying to keep her face from turning red.

"No problem." McQuaid's sheepish upward turn of his lips belies his brevity. "We should do this again sometime," he adds, "without all the guns."

She gracefully side passes where the conversation is headed.

"I don't mix business with pleasure."

Ryan McQuaid's unrelenting pursuit of her attention remains the most mysterious thing about him. It intrigues Annie (much to her own chagrin) and her inquisitive nature (much like a devil resting on her shoulder) puts ideas in her head that shouldn't be there. He is temptation at its finest, and despite her self imposed exile from the world of emotions, the old Annie still craves the connection solitude can't give her. Part of her, the part that actually _likes_ him, is dying to know what it is exactly that he finds so alluring.

What is it he sees in her?

Because when Annie looks at herself, all she sees are damaged goods.

"Well then you lose on both counts, Annie Walker." McQuaid goads. "Oh, by the way, I haven't forgotten that conversation we were having before about how you cracked Borz. Cards up remember?"

The question catches her off guard because his curiosity makes her suspicious, and she reminds herself that he still hasn't told her anything about _his_ hour. It's the one thing that keeps her from letting him earn her trust completely.

"Why do you wanna know?" She demands.

"Why don't you want to tell me?" He counters.

She's tight lipped at that, and this time McQuaid's the one that sighs dramatically for show.

"Ok, forget it. I'm going to get some sleep."

She's almost shocked that he relents so easily, but on the other hand she isn't. The possibility that he's doing this just to bait her is very real, and he's crafty enough to try something conniving like that. Not to mention, it's what she would do too. She bites her lip, her inner turmoil tying her stomach in knots. Once again she finds herself walking the incredibly thin line that she's set between them, except it's become so blurred she's not sure where one side ends and another starts.

It's a battle between her head and her heart.

Her heart wins, as it often does.

"I told him we had his sister in custody, and that it was his fault because he left her behind," Annie's admission is subdued, uncomfortable, "and if he told me what I needed to know, I would help her."

McQuaid quirks his head, arms crossed. He hadn't been expecting an actual answer.

"Can you?"

"I shot her in Chicago. She died four days ago. Cards up."

Her confession hits the air and she watches another piece of her soul catch fire and go up in smoke.

"So you lied to a dying man." McQuaid considers. "That's a pretty dark move Walker."

His accusation hits Annie like a punch to the gut. What's worse is that it's not even the accusation itself that really bothers her. It's the fact that his words hurt her at all, because it meant she cared enough to let them.

"I did what needed to be done."

Annie expects a fight, a struggle of wills, for Ryan to choose sides - him on one and her on the other. Instead he astounds her with the impossible.

"That wasn't a criticism. That was a compliment."

He chooses _her._

* * *

The second time she catches herself sleeping on his shoulder, she chooses to stay.

* * *

"Aren't you two a sight for sore eyes!"

Dex is waiting for them four hours past the border, just outside of a town called _Pore_, in a Land Rover that looks brand new. He hugs McQuaid after they climb down off the bus, and the two fall into a familiar rapport of jokes and repartee. Annie watches the exchange with inquisitive eyes. The relationship between Ryan and his men isn't typical. They're not just employees on his payroll, they're brothers - _family_.

She envies that.

"I'm not going to lie." Dex says with a grin, hanging on the driver's door. "Jim and Fitz have been taking bets on whether or not you two would kill each other before you got over the border."

"I think she might even like me now, can you believe it?" McQuaid looks sideways at Annie, arms crossed, taunting her.

"Like might be too strong of a word." Annie answers diplomatically.

Dex laughs and shrugs, sliding in behind the wheel. Annie's immediate reaction is to head to the back seat, but Ryan grabs her arm just above her elbow as she's about to climb in.

He's a silhouette against a fading Colombian sunset, and for a fleeting moment all she can see against the shadows of his face are the striking blue eyes that stare back at her.

He's _too_ close.

"You can take shotgun." He lets go of her and gestures to the open passenger side door, breaking the spell.

"I thought chivalry was dead." Annie replies shortly. She feels like she's been holding her breath.

"Contrary to popular belief, I _am_ a gentleman, Ms. Walker."

"Arguable."

He offers her his hand to help her step up into the SUV.

"Then let me prove you wrong."

She surprises herself when she takes it.

* * *

Annie decides flying coach on the CIA's dime has nothing on McQuaid Security's private jets.

"Does he always fly the planes himself?" Annie asks Jim, staring out the window into blackness and passing clouds. He's seated next to her, but he's deeply focused on a game of Texas Hold 'Em with Dex.

After departing the small airfield in the middle of nowhere, they touched down in Bogota to refuel before taking off again. Fitz is helping copilot, but McQuaid has yet to give up his station as first captain, and Annie hasn't seen him since he told her to make herself comfortable and enjoy the ride. Not that she's complaining, distancing herself from Ryan and the uncomfortable feelings his presence has become a catalyst for is undoubtedly for the better. However, a small part of her finds she misses his company.

It's not something she wants to admit.

"Ryan? Generally, yes." Jim replies in his crisp British accent, distracted, not looking up from his cards. "It's his home away from home, being in the pilots seat."

"One of his homes away from home, at least." Dex adds with a yawn, waiting for Jim to make his move. He's the youngest of Ryan's three boys (as Annie has classified them), and though he means well, he's the most flippant.

"He's hardly slept…" Annie shifts, sitting cross-legged, eyeing Jim's cards from over his shoulder.

An indirect, seemingly disinterested statement about McQuaid's sleeping habits are less obvious then voicing her concerns directly. She tells herself the only reason she's worried at all is because she'd like to make it home alive.

It's not a complete lie.

"And have _you_ slept? Besides, that's what Fitz is for." Jim reassures, still debating over the hand he's been dealt. "Boss man sleeps when he's dead, metaphorically speaking of course."

"Are you folding or not, Jim?" Dex huffs impatiently.

"Whatcha think, Walker?" Jim grins.

She leans over his shoulder and studies the cards intently, tucking the loose strands of her hair back behind her ears.

"I've always been an all in kind of girl." She admits.

"See, I _knew_ I liked you." Jim beams.

He and Dex continue to play and Annie settles back into her seat, pulling the thin wool blanket they'd found for her a little tighter around her shoulders. Despite her best efforts to keep them all at a distance, Ryan especially, something about their camaraderie is infectious. Annie finds herself grinning, and laughing with them, and missing what it feels like _not_ to have a weight sitting on her chest.

She can't remember what it felt like before she lost everything.

She can't remember what it feels like to be home.

* * *

_**AN: **Yay for deleted scene moments! Also chapter 10, woohoo! This was really fun to write. I feel bad for Annie because she has a support system at the agency, in Joan, Arthur and Auggie, even Calder or Eric, but she's so far "outside" of what used to be her entire universe that I think she feels like a stranger. The sort of brotherhood I've created amongst Ryan's boys is something she would envy, I think. In fact, in 509 when she's surprised with her welcoming ceremony I think we see more of that. Let me know what you guys think, your reviews always make my day! Shout out to my biggest cheerleaders Primadonna001 and MrMsMingus, as well as Terp4life, whom I'm determined to convert into a Ryan fan before this story is over. ;) xoxo_


	11. St Clarity

**St. Clarity**

The Learjet's GPS is swiftly counting down the final couple hundred miles between them and home. It's the early hours of the morning before daybreak, and the only sound in the air is the muted roar of the engines propelling them. Ryan's comfortable in the pilot's seat and Fitz sits beside him, monitoring the system and the gauges. The dash is lit up with blinking lights that flicker and shift the shadows around the lines of their faces.

The plane practically flies itself, but they're both aware of their surroundings and diligently listen to the radio communication chatter they pick up once they're back in American airspace. So far it's been an uneventful flight.

If Ryan had been asked at the start of this adventure, he would have assured you that every piece of him would be burning to return to DC. To get back to his office, his resources, where he could throw himself into further analyzing the information collected from his hour with Borz. However, his mind is currently elsewhere. It's been running itself in circles since take off from Bogota, but despite his best efforts to steer it somewhere safe and predictable, it always ends up in the same place.

Annie Walker is a distraction he can't shake.

"You're thinking." Fitz states out of the blue, jarring Ryan from his thoughts. Fitz isn't one for small talk, so it catches him off guard.

"Am I?" Ryan attempts to skirt around the edge of the conversation, but the dodge lacks his usual finesse, and Fitz calls his bluff.

"I can _tell_." Fritz promises, convinced that his explanation is an unequivocal fact. "And when you do, dangerous things happen. For example, this trip."

"Now you sound like Caitlin." Ryan growls, growing defensive. "This trip ended up being everything we needed it to be. Danger is part of the job description, you know that."

"You know I resent that comparison." Fitz replies flatly. "And you know that's not what I'm talking about."

Before Ryan can argue further, their conversation is fortuitously interrupted by a knock on the dividing wall of the cockpit.

"Coffee?" Annie stands in the doorway, holding two cups. "I assumed you guys would want it black. I have to admit the Keurig makes me a little jealous."

"Actually, I was just needing a break, but sure - I'll take it." Fitz unbuckles his seatbelt, removes his earphones, and stands. He ignores the confused look on Ryan's face as he takes one of the cups of coffee from an equally confused Annie. "In fact," Fitz adds, "why don't you keep my seat warm for me, Walker?"

With a tip of his head to Ryan and a cheshire cat grin, he takes a swig of the coffee, steam still rising from the top, before quickly retreating into the cabin.

"Did I miss something?" Annie hands Ryan the other cup, suspicious eyes trailing Fitz to the back of the plane. Ryan doesn't answer right away, temporarily rendered wordless by Fitz's abandonment. Annie turns to him, expectant, but the seconds of silence tick by much to her aggravation.

"Well?" Ryan finally says, glancing at her, sipping his coffee. It's strong - just how he likes it.

"Well what?" She echoes, not following.

"Are you going to take a seat," he replies nonchalantly, "or is the pressure of first officer just too much?"

He's well aware of what he's doing, and he enjoys it - taunting her, getting under her skin. The ripostes, the back and forth, come naturally when she's around, and the muffled laughter, the lingering half-smiles she won't quite give up, only make him want to provoke her more.

Maybe Fitz isn't so wrong. The mind can be a dangerous place, and it doesn't help that Annie Walker has been dangerous from the start.

She leans against the doorway, sultry and smarting. "Was that a _challenge_?"

Ryan chooses to bait her again, fueling the fire. "Are you _scared_?"

"_You_, Mr. McQuaid, are the last thing I'd ever be scared of."

She takes the seat next to him to prove her point.

* * *

Talking to Annie is effortless.

Ryan tells her about how he had once been the bane of every professors' existence at the Naval Academy (Arthur Campbell included), and the story on how he garnered his field medic skills.

He finds out her favorite ice cream is Cherry Garcia, that she does in fact have more passport stamps than him, and that her favorite holiday is the Fourth of July.

It's in these rare moments alone with her that things become far more easy, more simple, than what they really are.

Instead of two adversaries at odds because of their allegiances, they're just two people.

The fantasy only lasts for a little while. Time passes too quickly, and Leesburg executive's approach controller reminds him that they'll be landing soon. And once they do, he and Annie will part ways again.

He shouldn't be disappointed, but he is.

* * *

Ryan is the last one off the jet after they land.

Annie is the first thing he sees when he steps onto the tarmac.

She's shrouded in light from the Virginia sunrise, a slender silhouette. Her clothes are disheveled, and her long, blonde hair is windswept and tangled. She pulls the loose strands from around her mouth, and he watches the curl of her fingers when she does it. Her eyes are bright despite the lingering shadow of exhaustion, an inextinguishable spark.

There's something wild about her, something fierce.

Something beautiful.

* * *

Much to Ryan's dismay, Annie refuses his offer to give her a ride home.

He therefore has to suffer through the ride back to headquarters with Dex, Jim and Fitz on his own.

Subsequently he must also suffer through their commentary.

"Maybe we need to start a new betting pool, boys." Jim contemplates.

"Oh yeah?" Dex plays along simply for the joy of being aggravating, his shit-eating grin a dead giveaway. "I say… two months."

"Pfft." Fitz shakes his head. "Cut that in _half, _if even."

"_What_ are we betting on exactly?" Ryan knows he'll likely regret the answer.

"We're just taking advantage of the inevitable bossman." Jim hedges. "Besides, you're the one always telling us to be opportunistic."

"The inevitable being?"

"Jesus - isn't it obvious, McQuaid? You _like_ her."

* * *

Ryan spends the day finishing up his debrief on Venezuela, returning phone calls, and doing his very best to pretend the entire conversation on the car ride over never happened. He tells himself that it's for the best, because (regardless of his feelings) past experience has taught him that hoping for the impossible does more damage than good.

His plan is to go home - eventually. However, said plans are interrupted when Caitlin storms into his office and insists that he is needed for a new contract bid in Edinburgh tomorrow.

So much for a relaxing night.

Instead of spending it on his couch with bottle of bourbon he'll be flying over the Atlantic ocean instead to spend a day in the birthplace of scotch.

Ryan has a few hours before a driver will take him back to Leesburg, where he will board a jet that (thankfully) someone else will be flying. He makes the most of his time, taking advantage of the community showers he insisted on when they first drew up the schematics for this building. What's good enough for his people is good enough for him. Clean, shaved and feeling as close to a million bucks as humanly possible, he retires to his office lounge for the remainder of his wait.

100 proof silk on _this_ couch will have to do.

Ryan sits down with the intention of reading up on the dossier Caitlin's made on the company chairman he'll be speaking with tomorrow, but business politics are the furthest thing from his mind.

He eyes the bottle of bourbon sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

He thinks about the last person he shared it with.

Ryan sets the dossier on the couch and crosses the room to his desk. He fires up his desktop computer, pulls up Google, moves to use the keyboard - then hesitates.

He made a promise that he wouldn't do this. This is a line that he knows better than to cross, because if he does he'll only be torturing himself. But it's something he hasn't been able to stop thinking about - in all the days and hours and minutes that have gone by since.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see Annie on the dock in Maracaibo.

He takes a breath before he starts typing.

_Myocarditis._

* * *

**_AN:_**_ Oh snap, an entire chapter of deleted scenes! Primadonna001 and I would like for them to just fly off into the sunset now. I might I see an AU fic in the future... ;) _

_Also aren't Fitz, Jim and Dex fun?! I love them lol. They need an acronym: WWFJDD? Anyway, you readers ROCK! Holy smokes, almost at 100 reviews as I'm posting this. I am flattered and I love that you love this story as much as I do, and I love reading all your thoughts and ideas on what you think is going on - the character conversation is awesome. Mad props, as one reviewer mentioned, to the CA writers for giving me such awesome material to use my imagination on. Cheers and here is to hoping you continue to enjoy it, and thank you for your patience. Tell me what else you want to see that might have happened behind the scenes, I'm here to please! xoxo_

_Musical inspiration: St. Clarity, by The Paper Kites._


	12. I Don't Know You

**I Don't Know You**

The morning is still and so is she. Annie stands on the runway and soaks in the sunlight, enjoying the slight breeze, breathing in the smell of summer mixed with jet fuel. Exhaustion creeps and hovers, a fog. She feels like she could melt into the ground at her feet, disappear and sleep for centuries.

"Welcome home, Walker."

McQuaid sidles up beside her, just as ragged as she imagines she must look. And yet he doesn't act like a man who's just flown half way around the world. His same insatiable smile is still in place, and the same bright, sky blue eyes peer at her with the characteristic mischief she's started to associate with him. How he manages to retain his childlike enthusiasm is beyond her, and as vexing as it makes him, it's almost endearing.

"You're sure you don't need a ride?" He asks, shouldering a bag and looking from her to the waiting sedan parked in one of the bays where Dex, Fitz and Jim are gathered.

"Joan's sending a car, actually." Annie explains. "Maybe next time."

"You're going back to Langley?" McQuaid seems surprised.

"Y'know, reports, the usual, being the good soldier I am." She shrugs.

"Reports can wait." He replies seriously, arms crossed. "Don't forget to take care of yourself."

It's normal to remind anyone that they need to think of themselves from time to time. Except Ryan's words are more than just a reminder that she should rest: he knows her secret. The way he looks at her, how he can't quite manage to hide the worry, makes her stomach twist and her head feel light.

It's been a long time since anyone's looked at her like that.

"I will." She says quietly.

She's not sure either of them believe it.

* * *

"You know Joan would've let the debrief wait."

Annie is startled out of her blank stare at the computer screen in front of her. It's all she's managed to do to keep herself from falling asleep, and there's hardly anything on the word document except for a heading. A shower at the gym and a fresh change of clothes from the go-bag she keeps there hadn't helped much.

She looks up from her desk, pleasantly surprised to find Auggie sitting on the edge of it.

"Hey. I didn't see you." She runs her fingers over her temples and squeezes her eyes shut, yawning.

"I noticed." Auggie grins. "I've only been here for a minute. Maybe five."

"Sorry." She leans her forearms against her desk, head tilted to the side, her tone apologetic. "Once I've had some real sleep you won't be able to sneak up on me so easily."

"I've always been able to sneak up on you easily." Auggie insists. "I was thinking maybe we could grab drinks later, but…"

"Yeah. Maybe not tonight."

Auggie nods. He understands. It's painful though, the distance between them, and she can feel it, the gaping emptiness. It hurts knowing that she's the reason it's there in the first place. She left behind so much damage when she left, and despite her fractured attempts to put the pieces back in place, some of it is beginning in to feel irreversible.

Annie watches Auggie, watches his face, and wonders at how he's always so calm - unreadable. She's spent hours in the past conjuring ideas, trying to imagine what it is he might be thinking. She's always taken for granted that he can't _see _the way she looks at him, that he can't see her studying him.

At the same time she's glad, because if he could, she's not sure how much she could have hidden from him all these years. She's not sure she could have hid anything from him now especially.

"I'll make it up to you." She reaches and grabs his arm.

"Deal." Auggie reaches for her hand, squeezing it. "Now go home."

If only it were that simple.

* * *

Joan finally forces Annie to leave when she finds her asleep on her desk an hour after Auggie's first attempt to reason with her.

She's always had to learn the hard way.

When she does get home though, she can't settle down, and idle hands are the devils plaything.

She keeps her phone close, and her computer at her fingertips. She finishes her report, scours the files she has on Borz for the thousandth time, and waits to hear something from Auggie on The Postman. She scavenges for pieces of information on McQuaid Secrutiy's website that she might have missed the first time, and she conducts her own background checks on McQuaid's three musketeers.

She's memorized _his_ public biography line for line.

When she exhausts those options, she double checks her nitrate supply, takes her second hot shower of the day in an attempt to cleanse herself of any Venezuelan remnants, and debates on what she'll eat for dinner. The only things in her fridge are water and a six pack of wine coolers, so she orders take out.

Later the knock on her apartment door catches her by surprise. It's too soon for it to be the delivery guy. Annie hesitates, and then sets her laptop back on the coffee table next to her phone and the now empty bottle of Smirnoff ice.

She can't see any immediate figure through the frosted glass of her front window, but that only makes her more wary. She takes a breath and slowly unlocks the deadbolt, the doorknob, and the bottom latch before cracking the door open.

The package on her doorstep with a McQuaid Security logo is the last thing she expected.

She picks it up carefully and steals back into her apartment, securing her system of locks behind her. She saunters over to the kitchen island, examining the hand written scrawl on the brown paper wrapping - her initials. She sets it down, her expression quizzical, and gingerly opens one end.

Recognition hits her when she pulls the black leather case out and she reads the note on the stationary taped to the top of it.

_Hope it fits. R_

When she opens the case a brand new Beretta PX4 Storm is waiting to greet her. She goes from hesitant to giddy in a matter of seconds, a spy in a proverbial candy store. Annie doesn't hesitate, grabbing the gun in one hand and the magazine (ammo already included, a nice touch) in the other. She loads it, pulling back the slide to put a round in the chamber. Using the standard two-handed grip she lifts it into ready position and lines up the sights.

The fit is perfect.

She tries not to smile, but fails miserably.

Of all the calling cards she's ever gotten, this - by far- is the best one.

Ryan must have remembered their conversation in Caracas, when she'd told him that she'd had to ditch her gun in Maracaibo. His gesture, whether it be a peace offering or an apology, stirs up a whirlwind of emotions that she can't quite explain. There's mostly gratitude, but there's also curiosity. It's the same question she continues to find herself asking about almost everything the man does.

_Why?_

Annie's built so many walls around herself, locking up her heart and throwing away the key, a retreat into a vacant, empty world of solitary existence. She has compartmentalized the very emotions that had once been at the center of her universe - who she was. Lost, alone, she's managed to justify her exodus on the grounds that she is protecting the people she loves.

As long as they don't know she's sick, they will be safe.

As long as they don't know the truth, she can't hurt them.

Yet Ryan, a perfect stranger up until a few days ago, now knows more than anyone. The weight of that realization steals her breath away. How is it that one man is suddenly foiling her convictions entirely?

How is it that she continues to fall, knowing it might break both of them?

* * *

_**AN: **Look Epona3, there's actually an Auggie appearance! Lol. Annie and Auggie's relationship is so complicated now, and they're so out of sync from where they used to be, especially after shit went sideways with the whole Helesa plot in S4. Which is why it's become hard for me (personally) to justify them being together. I think Annie feels out of sync with everyone though, and Auggie is just the prime example. That's why Ryan is intriguing to me as a writer, and I think to Annie as a character. There's no baggage from everything she's been through connected to him, but most importantly he's not the Agency. He's the possibility of the life she could have outside of it._


	13. But I Know What You Do

**_But I Know What You Do_**

"Was this another one of your impulse buys?"

"It wasn't an impulse buy. I keep them in the vault for when I need them."

"When you _need_ them?"

"Yes."

"So now need means gift giving? I thought you sent girls flowers - not guns."

"Shut up, Fitz."

"Hurry it up then, Romeo. Caitlin's going to be pissed if you miss your flight."

Ryan finishes sealing the McQuaid Security envelope, casting a vicious death glare in Fitz's direction from his desk. His friend has commandeered his office couch, as well as the bottle of bourbon.

"You're going to be pissed if I reassign you to guard glaciers in Antarctica." He grabs a sharpie out of a drawer, and writes something across the envelope's front before picking it up. They both know it's an empty threat, but giving one another hell is a naturally reoccurring thing in their friendship. After 15 years of it, Ryan imagines that will never change.

His expression morphs from aggravated to earnest as he crosses the room and hands it to Fitz.

Fitz puts the bourbon down and takes the package. He inspects Ryan's handwriting on the front.

_A.W._

"I can count on you to do this for me, right?"

"You've always been able to count on me. That's not stopping now."

* * *

The flight to Edinburgh is long, quiet and empty. He finds himself missing his previous company. In the low light of the cabin he examines the articles he printed out before leaving the office. Medical journals detailing the complications of myocarditis.

With every page of diagnoses, findings from exploratory treatments and possible surgeries, his own chest tightens and aches.

He's treading dangerous waters.

Try as he might to stay the course, it's becoming impossible not to drift away from the safety of the shore.

There's a part of him that knows better, because he's been down this path once before. The memories cut deeper than any wound or scar they might have left behind. He's witnessed first hand what it's like to watch someone who's spent their entire life fighting finally fracture and break. He knows what it's like to watch them suffer, because you suffer with them.

But even after all the suffering, the heartache, he'd do it again.

He'll be damned if he lets Annie fight alone.

That is why he wants to help her. _That_ is why he sends her the gun.

He has tried, and failed, to ignore his growing feelings for her. She is unwavering, a relentless and addictive force from which he can't turn away. It is a constant effort to remind himself that she is not _his, _that his concerns and his worries are without claim. And yet the irrepressible need to protect her overwhelms him - not because she needs protecting, not because she is fragile, but because she is _so_ strong, and he fears that she would let herself shatter before anyone could save her.

Ryan refuses to let that happen.

He will fight for her.

If only she would let him.

* * *

The meeting with Quorate Technology is a success. The Scott's are just as impressed with Ryan McQuaid's love of whiskey as they are with his company's steadily growing resume, and he wins the security bid from them handily over two other European PMC competitors. There's backslapping and booming laughter and cheers abound from his newly acquired friends - another several million dollars earned, all in a days hard work.

Ryan is the master of putting on a good face, but pleasantries aside, he's relieved to lock himself in his hotel room at the end of the day for the remainder of his stay. He's not sure how much longer he can run on little to no sleep; surely he's earned a fitful night's rest for his efforts.

It seems fate would have other plans.

A phone call from Arthur Campbell cuts his trip (and any ideas of slumber) short. An invitation to the INP Awards dinner back in D.C. the following evening is the topic of conversation. The rumor that the senate is seeking to outsource their domestic operations with the CIA is intriguing, and Ryan agrees that the lucrative connections that McQuaid Security stands to make while attending the event are too good to pass up.

He assures Arthur that he'll be there before hanging up the phone, and then dials his pilot to tell him they'll be heading home.

Gathering up his things to head to the lobby of the hotel to hail a cab, Ryan glances at his watch.

It's early afternoon in DC. He wonders what Annie is doing, how she is doing, and if Fitz managed to deliver her package.

He decides when he gets back he'll ask her to dinner one more time.

* * *

_**AN: **So sorry for the longggg wait for such a short piece! I started a new job this week and my hours for writing are now severely limited with that on top of school, but don't worry, I promise I'm not going anywhere. I hope this can tide you over until the next chapter. Thanks for all the awesome reviews you guys, you make me smile! xoxo_


	14. Breathe

**_Breathe_**

Spying on an NSA agent like Harris Wilson is hardly as exciting as it sounds. However, thanks to Auggie's friend Roger, the intel suggests that the second life this man leads is far more interesting than the domestic existence Annie's been privy to this morning outside his house in cozy, mundane DC suburbia. A life that includes, but is not limited to, selling United States secrets to men like Borz Altan.

The mud keeps getting deeper. Would she drown before she found the answer? Sometimes it felt that way.

The coffee Annie's drinking is cold, but it's early and she's slept like shit the past few nights and right now it's the only thing that's keeping her awake. There's nothing quite like visions of exploding bombs and Borz's dead body dancing in your head to deprive you of sleep, amongst other things. As well as she might hide it, anxiety is her constant companion. Annie's tried to follow the trail of dead bodies, broken relationships and bad decisions back to where it all started, but she's yet to find the answer.

She isn't expecting the phone call when it comes. The sound makes her flinch. She's almost surprised when she reads the caller id, but then again...

She struggles not to smile as she lifts the phone to her ear.

"Hello Mr. McQuaid."

_"Did you get my gift?"_

The smile wins.

"It's not everyday a man gives me a gun." Annie admits, keeping her eyes trained on Harris' house.

_"Guns or roses, I hope I made that right choice - and may you never have to use it." _

McQuaid wastes no time in jumping straight into his usual humor.

"I better stay away from you then."

Part of her is joking. The other part isn't.

_"Well, that's actually why I'm calling. Seeing as we had such a wild time in Venezuela, I was thinking maybe we should do something a little more urbane."_

"What's that?" Feigned interest coupled with genuine girlish curiosity makes for a dangerous combination.

_"I was hoping you would accompany me to an awards dinner tonight."_

For a moment her heart catches in her throat, but this time it's not because she's sick.

"I can't." She deadpans.

_"Well is that because you still don't trust me, or is it because you don't have anything nice to wear?" _McQuaid teases.

"_You _still haven't told me about the hour you spent with Borz Altan in Maracaibo."

Annie's attitude changes quickly as the topic becomes more personal. It has nothing to do with fancy clothes - she's certain her collection of footwear and designer dresses she's acquired over the years could play the part. It's his first guess that couldn't have been more right.

How is she supposed to trust him when he can't trust her?

_"Is that a no?" _

He seems to think the idea that she could refuse him is preposterous, judging by his tone of voice. But he's far from giving up, and instead fishes for another answer, as he often does. Annie's starting to find that no isn't something Ryan McQuaid is accustomed to.

She changes tactics and changes topics.

"I can't believe you're inviting me to a black tie dinner the night of."

_"I didn't even know I was going to be in DC until a few hours ago. And obviously it's last minute. But I couldn't pass up the chance to see you... and I do want to see you."_

She can't do this. Not right now. So, in typical Annie Walker fashion, she shuts down.

"I'm working."

_"What are you working on?"_

Before McQuaid can interrogate her further in an attempt to sway her decision, Annie's saved by the proverbial bell. Harris steps out of his house just as she's about to have to answer the man on the other end of the phone with a _real_ explanation. Her eyes lock onto her suspect - a predator eyeing its prey, and she immediately refocuses on the task at hand.

Annie Walker is nothing if not committed to her job. And because she is who she is, because she's learned how lock herself in and lock people out, it takes almost nothing for her to hang up the phone.

Almost.

She leaves Ryan with a fleeting farewell. It's more then she gives most anyone else.

"Thanks for the gun."

* * *

Of all the things that could happen while tailing Harris, Annie never thought it would be _this_.

When it happens, the first few milliseconds before the world explodes are the longest of her life. You see what's about to happen, but you're entirely powerless to stop it.

Then, as if shuttled into some vicious time vortex, there's nothing but a crashing roar and the scream of locked tires and shattered glass. There's the sickening sensation of her head snapping back. It's an erratic, racing heart coupled with blaring sirens and too bright lights. It's the gaping, empty void between the woman existing outside herself and the body strapped to the gurney in the back of an ambulance.

There's blood on her forehead, a brace on her neck. Hands are strapping an oxygen mask to her face.

Is she dying?

It feels familiar in the worst possible way.

A ghost of a voice echoes nearby, almost too faint to hear.

_"We're all spinning plates. One's bound to drop from time to time."_

* * *

Fate is a cruel thing.

When Auggie rounds the corner into her hospital room, her spirits are lifted immediately. He's always had a knack for showing up right when she needed him most, so his timing couldn't have been better. He looks severely out of place in his tuxedo, but being out of place was never something that bothered August Anderson before, and it certainly doesn't now.

And now that Auggie is here, she can breath a little easier. Evading the emergency room doctor was an easy enough task, and despite her killer head ache and supposed concussion she's suffering from (she's had much worse), Annie's sure she's home free.

"How'd you know I was here?"

Until she realizes she isn't.

"I'm your handler I get notified in situations like this, you know that. You sure you're ok?"

Panic all but combusts her where she stands.

"Yeah. Does Langley know I'm here?"

She already knows the answer.

* * *

"You've been hiding something ever since you got back, now I want the truth."

It's been said the truth can set you free, but for Annie Walker it feels like the opposite. She's fought to keep it under lock and key from the CIA, because her secret would end her. Her worst fear was a desk assignment in the endless labyrinth of analysts and linguist at Langley, a place where she would never see the light of day ever again so long as Joan Campbell had her way once she realized Annie had broken the rules - again. The agency wouldn't care about her accomplishments, they wouldn't care that she was _this close_ to solving Chicago. They'd only care that she was broken, expendable - a _liability_.

Auggie stands there, waiting for an answer, waiting for _Annie_ (his friend), not _Walker_ (his operative), to finally close the gap that's grown steadily between them ever sine she's been back. In a different world this would have been easy, but here they are, after everything, and Annie doesn't recognize either of the people they've become because of it. She doesn't know how to fix this, them, and how is she supposed to when she can't even fix herself?

"I don't know where to start." She breathes out and clenches her jaw. She wipes the dampness from her eyes and ignores the sting.

Auggie's hands are folded on top of his cane, his brow furrowed, eyes pensive, and his usual words of wisdom and comfort glaringly absent. The silence is suffocating and Annie begins to fear that he won't say anything at all; that they really were more irreparable than she previously led herself to believe.

"Stories are generally easier to tell if you start at the beginning." Auggie replies gently. "Walk with me?"

Annie knows that she has to tell him everything.

She feels like a bird who's agreed to break her own wings.

* * *

_**AN:** Wooooohoooo, it's been a while folks! Finally life has gotten to where I have a little bit of time to write, so I managed to pump this out. I'm so excited the season has started back up, and I'm continuing to enjoy it. Hopefully I can start playing catch up now that I have some motivation. 512 was awesome, I hope y'all liked it too! Here are some Annie thoughts from Silence Kit (504). I try to get inside her head, and delve into stuff we don't really "see" on the show, as I've said before. We'll rotate between McQuaid and her, as I've done in the past. So he's next! I hope you like it! xoxo_


	15. Maybe, Maybe

_**Maybe, Maybe.**_

Ryan's pleased with himself, for various reasons, but mostly with the fact that his courting skills have not lost their touch after all this time. Annie, though she declined his invitation to the INP awards tonight, seems happy with his choice of gift, and that would be enough to satisfy him for now.

He makes a quick stop by the office later that evening before heading to the gala. There are some proposals that need his signature for his new Scottish friends he'd left back in Edinburgh, and Caitlin insists that they cannot wait.

"So does this mean I won this bet?" Fitz asks innocently when McQuaid hands off the required folders to deliver to Caitlin's desk.

"I thought I said no more bets." Ryan scowls and leans against his desk, arms crossed.

"You know Jim can't resist." Fitz passes the blame with a shrug and a knowing grin, clapping Ryan on the shoulder as he walks out. "But I was the one who figured she'd play hard to get."

* * *

Ryan is a man of many hats.

Charismatic and charming CEO of McQuaid Security is the hat he wears tonight. As a guest at the INP awards dinner there's a certain expectation for him to perform his duties as such. He goes through introduction after introduction of senators and their wives, and senators and their husbands. He begrudgingly turns a blind eye to so-called gentlemen with dates obviously twice their younger. Diplomats and politicians he pretends to know shake his hand, and to his childish delight he enjoys watching Arthur Campbell captain conversations and capture contracts as if he were born to do it. The night will undoubtedly be lucrative if the pace continues.

Typically Ryan would enjoy himself at these evening tie-and-gown gatherings. They presented a unique challenge in their own right. How many unfamiliar faces and places could he add to McQuaid Security's every expanding list of clients by the end of the night? How many left or right wing czars could he win over with his charm and quick wit? Whose buttons could he push to get a rise out of them that worked in his favor?

It is, in many facets, a game. A game he likes to win.

But tonight something is different. Perhaps it's because he's more distracted than usual, for reasons he isn't sure he wants to admit. He's thankful that Arthur is there to buffer what would have usually been an endless onslaught of conversation. In the brief slivers of silence between hellos and goodbyes and business he can allow his thoughts to wander, if just for a moment.

He never called Annie back after she hung up on him earlier that morning. He'd wanted to, but his better judgment reminded his impatience that he should wait. She continues to be a puzzle he can't solve, though not for lack of trying. Her stubborn indifference only makes him that much more determined to win her over.

So when Ryan spots her later that evening leading another man through the gala, donning blue jeans and a jacket amongst the masses of ball gowns and tuxes, he's amused and disappointed all at once. It's not a coincidence though, because her head is bowed as she talks seriously to the man on her arm, and that's when Ryan spots the cane folded in his hand. August Anderson becomes easier to recognize as they draw closer, and Ryan's curiosity piques. He knows that he's Annie's CIA handler from reading her file and conversations with Arthur. Perhaps her rain check for work wasn't an excuse after all.

He has to bite his tongue when he realizes they'll pass right by him, but instead of remaining hidden off to the side alone at a table with his glass of champagne like he'd planned, she looks up just as their paths cross.

He tips his glass to her, grinning.

The fleeting smile she gives him makes her the most beautiful woman in the room.

* * *

As the party draws to a close and the bar makes last calls, Ryan grabs one last glass of bourbon and takes a seat to watch the crowd leave. Arthur joins him a few minutes later, and they perch at the bar top together while a piano plays in the background, accompanied by the clink of crystal and dinnerware as the bus boys make their final rounds. It's the most peaceful thing he's been privy to in over a week.

"Well, what do you think, boss?" Humor edges Arthur's words.

"I think you've done excellent work." Ryan grins, taking a sip from his glass.

The two men fall into a comfortable silence as they continue to appraise the thinning river of people headed out the door. Ryan spots Joan, stunning even at the end of the night, trailing along at the end of the crowd, laughing with a woman he doesn't recognize. He'd noticed Annie talking with her after she'd arrived earlier. His curiosity gets the best of him.

"Do you know why Walker was here tonight?" He asks nonchalantly, cradling his bourbon.

"Annie?" Arthur gives McQuaid a curious look. "She was here?"

"She was speaking with your wife." Ryan adds, nodding in Joan's direction.

Arthur is quiet again, and he seems to consider the possibilities. After a while he takes a swig of his own drink, and seems to steel himself to say something. When Ryan meets his gaze this time, he can't help but feel like a boy about to be chastised by his father. Arthur had that look, from time to time. Ryan remembers it well from his days at the Naval academy, and he relives it now.

"Can I give you some advice, as a friend?" Arthur's asks carefully.

"Of course." Ryan replies without hesitation.

"I know you, Ryan, and I know you see something in her. Everyone sees something in her, at some point. Annie does that to you, eventually." Arthur's words are quiet, serious, but he smiles. "I know Annie, too. Whatever it is you're thinking about doing, and I know you are, just be careful." The concern Ryan can see on Arthur's face is genuine, like a father protecting his daughter. "She's been through a lot."

"I understand." Ryan pauses and dips his head. "And I appreciate your concern, truly."

Arthur nods again, as if nothing has transpired between them, and the two men resume their people watching.

"So, Pearson..." McQuaid teases, eyebrows raised.

"Pearson," Arthur chuckles, "is a piece of work."

"I knew that you were good." McQuaid commends. "But _that_ was flat out masterful."

And so the evening continues with talk of patriotism and serving ones country, the bigger picture that the company, all of them, are creating as a whole. It's Ryan's livelihood and lifeblood; it's what he lives for. Yet, as important as that is, as important as these moments are for what they're trying to achieve, for the first time in a very long time Ryan finds himself wondering if the life he's imagined for himself could be different.

Arthur said that everyone sees _something_ in Annie Walker.

Ryan wants to be the one that makes her see it in herself.

* * *

_**AN: **I feel like I "know" Annie better, but I so enjoy writing from Ryan's pov. Thanks for the super reviews y'all, I'm so glad to see so many returning readers - you rock. Expect to see more from Fitz & Co. I love them too much to let them go haha. Also 513 (She Believes) was intense, hope y'all got to watch it! This chapter's musical inspiration: Maybe, Maybe, by Cam Nacson. "I tried to play the hero for a girl who don't need saving."  
_


	16. Shatter

**_Shatter_**

Annie's never been the kind of person who ever felt helpless.

Even as a child her ability to overcome adversity was exceptional. While Danielle bemoaned each move from base to base, Annie embraced the army brat way of life. The prospect of change intrigued her; she welcomed it with open arms. There was no mountain too tall for her to climb. No adventure or challenge too big for her to pass by. Throughout her life an intrigue for the dangerous and daring followed her, and through a series of events, unfortunate or otherwise, she's ended up here.

The only difference is that all the times before, escape was an option. She never felt helpless, because there was always another way, another loophole, another out.

She feels helpless now.

"It was a Hail Mary."

Auggie can feel it, she knows he can, the tangible anxiety and desperation that radiates from her like a flame. Her last ditch effort to sway Harris' wife had been a long shot at best, but it hadn't stopped her from hoping that she could change the status quo in her favor. Auggie's words now are a hollow offering of comfort, and despite his best intentions they do little to ease her frantic mind. Her pulse echoes in her head, a bitter reminder that the heart beating in her chest is the very reason she sits here now.

The ultimate betrayal is her body's failing health.

"I should have been able to turn her." Annie is short, terse, her eyes distant.

"No one wants to face the truth." Auggie tries to reason with her, talk her off her ledge. "It feels easier to look the other way."

Annie, blinded by her own desperation not to fail, continues to try and fight the impossible.

"Call Joan and have Melinda brought in."

"I'm sorry Annie."

"A couple hours one on one, I can get her-"

"It's time to call it a night." Auggie's voice changes when he cuts her off this time, his previous pacified tone hardening. He achieves his desired effect; it stops Annie in her tracks.

But then she laughs.

It's a short, strangled laugh that falls flat and lifeless between them. Auggie turns in her direction, his expression a mixture of incredulity and concern.

"What? What's so funny?"

"I'm a really good driver." Annie whispers, staring straight ahead at the road from behind the wheel where they're parked. "Even when I was at the farm and I didn't know anything else, I knew that. After everything I've survived it's a _freak_ car accident that kills my career."

"Your career's not over." Auggie argues.

But they both know that's not really what this is about.

"I want to be in the field. It's my life. It should be my choice."

Auggie is quiet, but just for a moment. What he says next is something she'll remember for the rest of her life.

"The hardest decisions in life are sometimes made for us. It's how we choose to live with them that matters."

* * *

She promises Auggie that she'll go home after she drops him off at his place, but she doesn't.

Instead she drives, sleepless and searching. She drives through DC, into Georgetown where she passes her sister's old house, but can't bring herself to stop. She drives to the National Mall, where she's spent days as student studying by the monuments, and countless other moments, some she'd rather not remember, as a spy.

Annie parks and walks down 17th Street, past the National World War II Memorial where she crosses and heads at a leisurely, lost pace toward the Washington Monument. The sunrise bleeds into the sky ahead of her, and the safety light at the top of the sprawling structure on the hill blinks baleful and red against the morning sky. She comes to a bench on the path she's following, and she sits.

She's sat here before. She remembers the man who sat beside her. She remembers what his blood looked like on an alley floor in Hong Kong.

_"You turned your back on something, what are you running from?"_

* * *

Annie finally makes it home, but it doesn't feel like a place she can call that. The dead flowers on her kitchen windowsill are evidence.

She's caught between insurmountable dread and exhaustion, but the latter is winning the war. Sleep and a shower are the only thing on the docket for her foreseeable future, minus losing her job once she get's the phone call that the CIA's found out about her medical records.

However, when Harris shows up and tries to kill her, sleep and a shower become less important.

* * *

The sixty second struggle through her apartment is the longest of her life. In a knife fight, in another life, Annie wouldn't blink at the prospect of going hand to hand with someone twice her size. It's the taser in Harris' hand that makes her hesitate now. She knows if he manages to touch her with it it'll be more than just an electric shock that stuns her - she has to consider the ramifications it could have on her heart.

He dives for her though, ending any contemplation of running, and Annie rises to meet him.

She manages to use his momentum against him, kneeing him in the chest and hurling him into the kitchen island. It gives her just enough time to scramble and snatch her gun off of the coffee table where she'd set it, but she's not fast enough to turn before he grabs her from behind. It doesn't help that her heart rate is already through the roof, but she continues to fight, thrashing until Harris is forced to release her. She goes crashing through the glass door of her bedroom. In the split second it takes for her to scramble backward across her bed it feels like her heart is already combusting inside her chest.

Harris lunges at her again as she pulls herself up and grabs a pillow, raising her gun and pulling the trigger. His body snaps back violently when the bullet catches him in the head. The recoil from the gun and the awkward angle throws Annie back into the bed, and his body hits the floor.

Shortly after a wave of tightness hits her chest and her head begins to spin.

The attack feels delayed, sending the entire world into slow, distorted motion. Unsteadily she reaches for her bedside drawer, fumbling for the auto-injector containing her nitrate medication. She drops the gun on the bed and administers the medication into her thigh just as a cloud of darkness obscures her vision.

She's falling on the beach in Fatu Hiva all over again.

She focuses on breathing until her pulse slows, the knife like sensation dulls, and her lungs stop screaming.

Then, shakily, she pulls her phone from her back pocket and makes a call, breathless and shaken.

"Joan. It's Harris. He's dead."

When she hangs up, she loses it.

She manages to stop crying just long enough to pull herself together and let the sweep team in.

* * *

_**AN: **I really wish we'd see Annie lose her shit more on the show. I'm sorry, but after everything she's been through, how could she not have a meltdown? I'll definitely be writing a real meltdown at some point. Also, as my beta Primadonna pointed out, I wish the show would focus more on little things that make the characters who they are. Annie's memories, things like her sister, things like remembering watching Henry die, getting shot by Lena, Simon, Jai, EVERYTHING, all make her who she is. I guess the beauty of writing a story versus showing it on television makes that more feasible, but great TV writing wouldn't need that excuse. Hope y'all like this, lemme know. xoxo_

_ps: thanks Anon for your super discussions and thanks Epona3 for being you. *hugs*_


	17. Shift

**Shift**

"Edinburgh is officially a go, Jim will be heading the team there for the next four weeks to make sure the initial phase goes smoothly. Also, Michael called from Johannesburg last night; I told him you'd return his call today when your time zones coincided. And don't forget you have a debriefing with the DCI on Venezuela in two hours at Langley, even though I told them it was entirely unnecessary... Ryan, are you listening?"

Caitlin Cook, in her Gucci suit, taps a toe impatiently and crosses her arms as she eyes Ryan from where she stands across the room dictating his schedule for the day. He's in the middle of finishing an email, and over the years he's learned to listen selectively to what she tells him. Because of this he misses the laser like way her eyes are currently trying to bore holes into his head. If it had been anyone else they would have felt her "wrath" by now, as elegantly coined by Dex.

"To every word." He promises, never once looking up from his computer, much to her chagrin. "My contact at the Russian embassy in Paris wants to meet, by the way." He adds the last bit as an afterthought, appearing entirely disinterested.

Caitlin's tune changes quick. She goes from irritated to impressed in a snap.

"I thought surely that would've been a bust, especially given the situation in Ukraine." She muses.

"Ye of little faith." Ryan teases, standing up and grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair.

"Faith in you? Always." Caitlin corrects him. "In the Russians? Never."

As cut and dry as the woman could be, Caitlin Cook's merits outnumber her flaws in Ryan's eyes. Her loyalty to him, and to the company, is one of them. Despite her reputation for being iron fisted when it came to company policy, it's her cut-throat, no-nonsense way of doing business that makes her valuable. Ryan counts on her to make the tough calls when he can't, and she's yet to fail him, here at McQuaid Security or otherwise. For that he can forgive her often times brash, insensitive nature, because he knows better than to believe that's all there is.

"You'll arrange a jet then?" Ryan asks, donning his jacket and adjusting his tie.

Caitlin doesn't respond. She's already scrolling across the surface of her work tablet with her finger, undoubtedly searching the available McQuaid Security manifests for the first flight to Paris.

* * *

Unsurprisingly the DCI is unavailable for their scheduled debriefing when Ryan arrives at Langley. He can count on one hand the number of times he's met the man in person, so needless to say he isn't surprised. He spends the next two hours in the company of his Deputy Director instead, an older gentleman with a deep voice and a firm handshake. They spend less time talking about what happened in Venezuela and more time swapping squid stories from their respective days at the Naval academy, and debating on whether or not the Nationals had a chance at winning the world series this year.

Ryan perhaps wins the Deputy Director over too well, and he begins to think he'll never escape the conversation, all the while wondering if this is some sort of cruel joke on the DCI's part for Ryan declining a contract offer several months ago.

His mind is on Russia, and the Russian helicopters he plans on acquiring, and he all but races out of the building once he's excused.

It's spotting Annie Walker in the main hallway that stops him in his tracks, and he immediately remembers having seen her the night before, and before he can stop himself he calls out to her - an involuntary reaction.

"I saw a woman who looked exactly like you at the gala."

She freezes, obviously surprised to see him there, and it amuses him to have caught her completely unaware. She narrows her eyes at him, quirking her head to the side and feigning confusion.

"Clearly someone had too much champagne last night." Annie counters.

Ryan decides there's no time like the present, and continues his attempts to persuade her into eating a meal with him. He tells himself that he'll win her over with his persistence. Eventually.

"Breakfast?"

"It's noon."

"Well, lunch works for me."

"Maybe some other time... I have to go see a friend."

Annie steps closer and Ryan does too, closing the gap between them. That's when he notices something he hadn't been close enough to see the night before, the tell-tale signs of makeup covering the angry bruising along her forehead. A slow burn starts in his chest, a mixture of worry and concern that he has to fight to keep off his face.

"How did the rest of your evening turn out?" He asks quietly.

At first she can't answer him. There's a vulnerability on her face that he's never seen before. He resists the urge to reach out and touch her.

"Thanks for the gun." Annie murmurs.

"You already thanked me..." Ryan states, dubious, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, but I feel like a little extra gratitude is deserved." She crosses her arms, uncomfortable.

Annie's anything but subtle, and the feeling in his chest increases ten fold as he begins to draw his own conclusions. In that instant he wants to ask her a thousand questions, and a thousand different scenarios of what might have happened race through his thoughts at break neck speed. He has to keep his own feelings in check, because if someone had intentionally targeted her, if someone had _hurt_ her...

"Are you ok?"

Her response to his question is the same brilliant smile that won him over from the beginning. He's noticed that when she smiles like that, there's an undeniable glow about her, and the way she looks at him changes. She changes, and this time Ryan is the one caught off guard.

"Love what you do and you never work a day in your life."

Ryan hears echoes of his own voice in her words, and he can't help but smile back at her. Before he can say anything else Annie spins and walks off in the opposite direction, calling over her shoulder.

"I'll see you around McQuaid."

It takes Ryan a minute to regain his bearings as he watches her leave. As he makes his way out of the building he begins to refocus on his upcoming trip and the Russian acquisitions he'll be attempting to make. But try as he might, his mind continues to wander back to Annie, and what she had said. It doesn't take long for him to realize why.

In that moment Annie Walker was different. In that moment her eyes were brighter and her presence lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

She was _happy_.

* * *

Later that evening Ryan has Fitz and Dex meet him at his house to discuss the new Jo'burg contract he secured during the phone call he made after leaving Langley.

He wants to make sure they're on the same page before he sets them loose in South Africa, and before he leaves for Paris. The comfort of his home is at least a pause outside the insanity of the office that he spends his days living in.

Dex excuses himself a little early because his little girl has a school play, and Ryan let's him because it'll be weeks before he sees her again. Dex might be the youngest and most hard headed of Ryan's core group of personnel, but he is also the toughest, hardest working son of a bitch to ever hit the ground at McQuaid Security. Two tours in Afghanistan and two years in special forces are what landed him here.

He got the job because he's a soldier, but also because he's a father determined to give his daughter the best life possible. For that he has Ryan's respect, and in some ways his envy.

Everyone needs something to live for.

"You sure you'll be able to live without us for a couple weeks?" Fitz says later, kicked back on a patio chair, enjoying the view from the deck that overlooks the spacious wooded area behind the house.

"I've done it before, I'm sure I'll manage." Ryan says wryly, chasing the comment with a swig of beer. He sets a now empty bottle next to an empty bourbon glass on the small table beside him and leans up against the sliding glass door of the house.

For a little while life is simple. They're two old friends solving the worlds problems (and maybe their own) over beer and bourbon.

"If you did need anything, you could just call your buddy, Walker." Fitz waggles his eyes at Ryan, refraining from resorting to a full blown laugh as he does so.

"She'd be better company than _you_." Ryan quips back.

Fitz throws his Yankees hat at Ryan and misses by a mile as it goes careening into the dark yard below the deck. When Fitz stands to retrieve his hat, he faux punches Ryan in the shoulder as he passes. In moments like this there's certainly no brotherly love lost between them, and he's thankful for that.

"In all seriousness," Fitz pauses at the top of the stairs, "I think she's good for you, McQuaid."

Ryan hesitates, but not for long.

"I think you're right."

* * *

_**AN:** Fitz is like the voice of reason, haha. Anyways, I love the little world I've created for Fitz & Co. So, like I mentioned, we'll see more of them for sure. Also, I felt like Caitlin was so underused/cliche on the show. I want to try and make her more believable here, as a human. Ryan respects her, despite her ill temper, and at some point she pulled him out of a dark place, so I'll touch on that. There was a lot I tried to accomplish with this chapter emotionally. In my head I have a picture of the man I think Ryan is, and I hope I conveyed that here. Shout out to Anon, who mentioned it can take 10 seconds to develop a character if it's done right. I hope this chapter makes the impact I wanted and hope y'all enjoy it. xoxo_

_PS: also thanks for the great reviews y'all, truly, and the discussion on tumblr/twitter/otherwise - I really enjoy it, and I'm glad there are other crazy people out there invested in these fictional characters like I am, lol. Cheers!_


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